Birthright
by Hikari Hellspawn
Summary: Maera is a battlemage, artificer, and planeswalker. She'd gone to Amonkhet with some friends with a staff, a sword, and a colorful vocabulary with the intention of giving a certain dragon a Ravnica-sized wedgie...instead, she ended up beaten, bloody, and stranded on Etrides. Missing an arm and unable to cast spells, she's got to figure out what being a Planeswalker really means...
1. Defeat

**So. Another fanfic. This time, in the Magic: The Gathering Multiverse...yeah, I know. I should probably wait until I've got one of my _other three_ stories finished before posting this one, because that would be the smart thing to do. But I'm not, because this sucker was demanding to be written ever since the Ixalan stories.**

 **But on the upside, I at least have this one _completed_ before posting. I should probably start doing that with my fics, huh? Y'know, guarantee I've got material to post when my brain decides to nope out to Nopeville.**

 **Anyway. For context, this takes place immediately _after_ Hour of Devestation in the Amonkhet storyline, when the Gatewatch fights (and gets their collective asses kicked by) Nicol Bolas. It's going to focus primarily on my fanwalkers (see: all the main characters are fanwalkers), and is set on a fanplane of mine called Etrides. It's...well, you'll see soon enough. Also, warning: Maera swears. A lot. She doesn't really have much in the way of language filter, so be prepared for cursing. And if you don't like reading stuff with a lot of swears...well. I just told you. If you read this and complain later, you have no excuse.**

 **I do not own Magic: The Gathering or anything else created by Wizards of the Coast. This is just what happens when you let me run wild in that expansive Multiverse...and maybe add a few planes and planeswalkers here and there.**

* * *

 **Birthright**

 **Chapter One**

 **Defeat**

 _ **SLAM!**_

 _She—or I—hits the wall. People stare. Too many people, too many thoughts, can't think..._

 _Stumble. Crash. Blood._

 _Damn. Her blood. No, wait—_ _my_ _blood._

 _Memories, too fresh; a dragon, her friends being played with like prey. Her own spells turned against her. The pain of drawing too much mana...far too much...more than she can handle._

 _The blood. It's all over her side. Her front. Her arms._

 _No. Arm. Where's my other arm?!_

 _I lean up against the all. She's bleeding bad. Her glasses are badly cracked, I can't see out of them._

 _Hurts._

 _Stumble, catch myself, keep going. Have to get back—_

 _Hands. Strong hands. Worried face—words. Asking something?_

 _She tries speaking. Tastes blood. Have to leave, have to find help...friends dying..._

 _Collapse. No, don't fall unconscious, no, don't—_

 _ **-XXX-**_

 **Maera's** eyes snapped open.

 _I'm not on Amonkhet._

If she was, she'd eat her shoe.

Groggy, she reached around for her glasses. Clumsily, since for some dumb reason her right arm was numb... _The eff did that 'walk do?_

After some fumbling, she found the glasses and put them on one-handed. Then, rather than trying to sit up, assessed her condition.

And screamed.

" _What the fuck happened to my arm!?"_

Running footsteps came down the hall. The half-faerie was staring down at her right side, in horror.

Her arm. Her right arm was _completely_ gone. Where it should've connected to her shoulder, there was...nothing.

Someone was speaking next to her. The words sounded muddled.

She passed out. Again.

 _ **-XXX-**_

 **The** second time she came to, someone was sitting beside her.

Maera groaned. And squinted; her glasses were off again.

"How are you feeling?"

She looked to the voice. The speaker was blue—which meant he could be one of a number of races. The half-faerie paused before replying.

"Like shit. You seen my glasses?"

He handed her them off a nearby table. With a grunt of thanks, Maera slipped them on with her left hand, glad that at least _part_ of her wasn't ripped to hell.

The man sitting in the chair next to her bed was vedalken. Typical of the species, he was tall and slim—if they were both standing, Maera suspected he'd be able to use her head as an elbow rest. _Dammit genetics, why couldn't I have gotten the height genes?_

The vedalken had his black-and-acid-green hair pulled back in a braided, the sides of his head were shaved. He was wearing a dark blue or black leather jacket, cargo pants, combat boots, and a pair of fingerless biker gloves. One of his eyebrows was pierced, and around one eye socket he had a tattoo of a broken semicircle that was just a few shades darker than his skin.

He was...different.

Sure, his appearance wasn't exactly what she was used to expecting of vedalken on other planes, but that wasn't what stood out to her. It was his eyes.

There was a light in them that Maera was all too familiar with. And endlessness that went deeper than most beings' souls.

 _Planeswalker._

"So—" She coughed, her voice hoarse. After a pause, she tried again. "So...what plane is this?"

The man frowned. "What?"

Maera pinned him with as withering a stare as she could—which, given the fact that she was lying in a bed and probably looked more like a warmed-over corpse than a human, wasn't very. "You know what I'm talking about."

"No, I don't."

Maera just stared at him for several long moments. Finally, she said one word.

"Planeswalker."

The man blinked, looking like she'd just slapped him across the face. "How did—? Who—? How do you know?"

Maera pointed at her face with her remaining hand. "Your eyes I can see it in your eyes." She croaked. "You can probably tell it in me, too. You've got a Spark."

The man studied her for several long moments, then nodded. "You're being surprisingly trusting."

Maera shrugged. Then hissed. " _Scheiß._ "

He reached out a long-fingered hand and put it on her shoulder. "Be careful. You just lost an arm."

Maera gave him a deadpan look. "No, really? I couldn't tell." She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. "Yeah. It's a long story."

"I'll bet."

She snorted. "I'm being more trusting than usual right now for a couple reasons." She said as the vedalken sat back in his chair. "One of them is that I'm currently tired to the point that I'm pretty much stoned."

"And the other?"

Maera eyed him. "Where- or whatever this place is, I'm guessing it's yours." The man nodded. "So it's a safe bet you're the one who brought me here."

"You planeswalked into the middle of a busy thoroughfare, covered in blood, and wearing clothes that don't belong on this world outside of holodramas." He replied. "Chances are people either thought there was some kind of hallucinogen in the air scrubbers, or that you were escaped from a mental institution."

Maera grunted. "And you felt the 'walk from a mile away."

"More or less."

She grunted again. _Goddamn it, everything hurts._ Granted, despite the fact that she felt like she'd been shoved in a barrel and tossed down a river, she didn't hurt as much as she thought she should have. _He must have some damn good painkillers running through me right now._

Of course, that didn't stop her body bitching.

The man shifted. "In answer to what plan you're on, Etrides." A beat. "You can call me Grimoire."

Maera looked to him and shot him a tired smirk. "Some name. Your mother give you that, or is your real name just that shitty?"

'Grimoire' frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

Maera snorted a laugh. And regretted it because of the stab it sent through her chest. "Sorry. I just handle stress and pain by upping my asshole level." She took a breath, hissing as the stump of her shoulder throbbed. "Usually doesn't help the pain part...but it's a great outlet."

The vedalken deflated, rolling his eyes. "I'll keep that in mind, the next time I find you wandering around covered in blood." He paused. "By the way, what the hell did you _do_ to fuck yourself up _this_ bad?" Maera was rubbing her eyes, glasses pushed up out of the way, when she abruptly stopped and stared at him. Her companion gave her a baffled look. "What?"

Maera blinked a few times before replying. "Well...I've met a few vedalken before, and they had a bit better of a language filter than mine. Frustration or not."

Again the eye roll. Grimoire crossed his arms. "And you're surprised...why, exactly?"

Maera shrugged, once again regretting it as the wave of pain returned. _Dammit._ "Just...surprised, I guess. And stoned on painkillers." She grunted. "If this is a preview of your personality, I think we'll get along swimmingly."

The other 'walker let out a long-suffering sigh. _Heh._ "I'm not sure if I should feel comforted by that..."

A snort. "Bro, if you'd seen some of the assholes I hang around with, you'd be running for the hills." A pang hit her in the gut. "...'course, chances are you _won't_ be seeing them at all..." she muttered, softly.

He cocked his head. "I'm sorry?"

Maera shook her head, admonishing herself. _Don't think like that, moron. For all you know, the others could've ended up on Etrides too. Just not the same place you landed._ "S'nothing. Bunch of friends and I...we sort of bit off more than we could chew." She pointed to where her right arm was supposed to be. "Sorta what led to _this."_

Grimoire gave a nod. "Right...anyway, you should probably rest." He said. "I don't know how much blood you've lost, but it looked like a lot and I'm not sure if I've got enough artificial blood on hand to make up for the difference. At least, until your body can replenish what you've lost."

Maera grunted. "I feel like an anemic."

"No offense, but you _look_ like one." A pause. "For that matter, you look more like a corpse than anything." He stood. "I'm going to see if I can scrounge up some supplies from some...ehh, people I know. _You_ get sleep. It'll take a while to recover from whatever flung you here, modern medicine or no."

Maera nodded, indeed feeling tired as hell. She didn't bother questioning who these 'people he knew' were; there'd be time for that later.

He left the room. Maera was back to sleep in minutes.

 _ **-XXX-**_

 **Much** to her companion's dismay, Maera was out of bed the next day.

"You should still be resting."

Maera grunted. She pointed to the mass of regen patches and bandages wrapped over the stump of her shoulder. "These seem to be doing their job." One handed, she attempted to pull her hair back into a ponytail. "And I'll keep the IV with me...goddamn it, fucking hair..."

"Here," Grimoire sighed. "Give me the tie." She did so, and he started pulling the mass of chestnut hair back. "...you realize you have enough hair to knit a scarf from?"

Maera snorted. "I like my long hair."

The other 'walker grunted. "There. That should hold."

"Thanks." Maera checked that the needle to the IV ( _Eugh, needles.._ ) was till in her left hand before standing, using the IV as much for balance as to keep it from rolling away and ripping the needle out of her hand. Immediately, she felt woozy and stumbled.

"Watch it!" Blue, six-fingered hands caught her shoulders, keeping her upright. " _Now_ you know why I said to _rest._ Your body's still barely started healing."

Maera scowled at him. She didn't like admitting it ( _Thank you Mom for letting me be a stubborn ass growing up,_ ) but he wasn't wrong. Even just _trying_ to stand had her head spinning, stomach doing backflips, and she was shivering and felt cold and hot at the same time. _It's like I have the flu, only I'm not sick._ "I can walk."

"Right into the floor."

"It's either that or pee into a bedpan, and I frankly enjoy the ability to use the bathroom on my own thanks."

Grimoire rolled his eyes to the overhead and let out an exasperated breath, but still kept hold of Maera's shoulders. "At least let me take some of your weight. I know from experience that IV stands don't make for very good crutches."

Maera grumbled something unfriendly, but still accepted the vedalken's support. She looked around. "Nice ship. Get it the same place you get your clothes?" Grimoire raised an eyebrow, and Maera let out a sigh. "Seriously, I'm just curious. This thing seems kind of...big for just one person. Must've been a bitch to pay for on your own."

Grimoire made a sound in his throat. "I...didn't. Not directly, anyway." He replied.

"Okhay...then where _did_ it come from?"

" _I came from Trikelius Prime Transportation Systems, thank you very much!"_

Maera jumped with a yelp, almost toppling herself and Grim over. She hissed as the IV needle was yanked out of her hand. "Son of a bitch...the hell was that?!"

" _Well. You weren't joking when you said she wasn't from around here, Grim. I've never seen_ _that_ _reaction to a talking ship before."_

Maera blinked, then pointed to the ceiling and gave Grimoire a deadpan look. "Who the hell's that?"

Grimoire pinched the bridge of his nose. "Maera, meet _Sleipnir._ " He sighed. " _Sleipnir,_ this is Maera. Try not to get into a smartassing contest."

" _No guarantees. I do love to annoy people."_

Again the vedalken groaned. "Shut up." he turned back to Maera. "You don't have AIs on your plane?"

Maera was trying to get the IV back into her arm. "Well, yeah, but...they're not exactly _sentient_. Not yet, anyway." She swore around the needle in her teeth. "Damn it...stupid needle."

"Here. Let me." Grimoire eased the needle out of the hand Maera had transferred it to and carefully got it back into place, making sure it was stuck back down on her hand. "What kind of plane _are_ you from?"

" _Hopefully one where there's computers. I_ _really_ _don't want to have to explain how the 'net works."_

Maera flipped off the ceiling. "I call it Terrestiel." She replied. "I'm not sure if that's the actual name or not; never managed to figure it out."

"I've never heard of a plane without a name before."

Maera shrugged, then winced as her shoulder stung in protest. "Meh. Neither have I, but it won't be the first time something weird happens in the Multiverse. The whole place is one giant pile of strange."

" _Reminds me of someone else."_

"Shut up, _Sleipnir._ "

" _Well? You_ _do_ _remember that time when-"_

" _Sleipnir_ _."_

" _All right, shutting up."_

Maera snorted a laugh. "At least you never get bored."

Grimoire rolled his eyes. "You have no idea."

Again she laughed. "Anyway, Terrestiel is...pretty unremarkable." She said as they entered the cockpit. She slumped down into the nearest seat. "It's the size of a whole universe, but so far we only of one planet that evolved sentient life. Or, life in general, for that matter."

Grimoire tapped something into a wall panel. "There's got to be more than that."

"There is. Or I hope so, anyway." She sat back, sighing. "And on that one planet we know has life, only about half the population believes in and can use magic." She shrugged with her good shoulder. "Over seven billion people on a planet, and half the population doesn't even know that the other half isn't even human. Kind of funny, when you think about it."

"Or depressing."

"Aren't you a ray of sunshine," Maera snorted. "Anyway...we're nowhere near the tech level here." She pushed her glasses up her nose. "Personal computers and stupid 'smart' phones, yeah, but we're still using freaking _jet fuel_ for space flight."

Grimoire paused in what he was doing. He blinked at her. " _What."_

"Yeah." Again Maera did the half-shrug. "Which is probably why the farthest we've gone from our planet is the moon." She peered up at the ceiling. "So yes, I know what a computer is."

" _You poor things. Grim, please tell me we can help? It sounds like her plane needs help."_

" _No."_ Grimoire pulled a pair of mugs out the wall alcove and came over to the half-faerie. "I didn't know what you wanted, so I just got coffee."

"Thank the Eternities," Maera grabbed the mug out of his hand and inhaled the steam. It smelled like haven. "The last plan I was on had no freaking idea what coffee was. Or tea. I wanted to scream. How can a _city_ run without _something_ caffeinated?"

"Where _were_ you, anyway?" Grimoire asked as he took a seat in one of the pilot's chairs.

Maera held up a finger as she took a swig of the brown miracle water. "After you tell me how you got _this_ smartass." She knocked the bulkhead with a foot.

" _I have a name!"_

"Yes, and you're still irritating."

" _My name is Sleipnir! Grim!"_

"Inheritance." Grimoire replied, ignoring the AI's protest. "My parents were...ahh, _traders_ would be the best way to put it. _Sleipnir's_ an old sloop that was built before the aether break."

Maera stopped midway through taking a drink of her coffee. "I'm sorry, the what?"

Grim frowned. "What's wrong?"

Maera shook her head. "It's just...I've only been to one—well, a couple other planes that have aether." She sighed. She hmmed into her mug. "I wonder if if they're..."

"I didn't think there _were_ other planes that had aether streams." Grimoire said, fingering the handle of his mug. "How'd—"

" _Grim, we have company."_

"Well, we _did_ come here for fuel."

" _That's not the company I meant, Grim. I mean the kind of company you, well..."_

Maera looked to Grimoire, and her eyes widened in surprise as she say his face go ashen. He set his half-full mug of coffee to one side, the beverage forgotten as his hands flew across the console screen. " _Sleipnir_ , can you go to FTL?"

" _If you're asking if my tanks are full, yes. If you're asking if it's a good idea to do a cold jump into the nearest aether highway, then no it's not a good idea."_

"I'm not asking for a cold jump. Just if you've got enough antimatter to get us out of here."

" _Then yes. Granted, we won't be able to stay at FTL for very long before dropping back to sublight."_

"Then it's a good thing we're not going very far..." The shock on the vedalken's face was gone, his focus shifted to whatever...people he was trying to avoid. "Get ready to undock. Unless they're managed to figure out that I'm _not_ just another tourist, shouldn't take too long..."

" _I've already asked for permission. So far, no red flags yet."_

Grimoire grunted "Good." Something dinged on his console, and he glanced at it before a slight nod. "Permission's been granted. Let's move, _Sleipnir._ "

" _On it. You have a course?"_

"Laying it in now."

Maera was listening to the exchanged, watching Grim's hands as they flew over the console. "I'm going to hazard a guess that these guys are _not_ friends of yours."

"Not exactly, no." He didn't look to her, his eyes scanning something on a readout. "Old associates. Ones I'd rather avoid."

"You get in a bad business deal or something?"

"You could say that." Maera felt the floor thrumming as the ship shifted into motion. "Looks like they haven't recognized us as of yet."

" _Good. I don't want holes in my hull."_

"Being the one who needs to breathe, I'm inclined to agree with you." An alert beeped in the corner of the viewscreen.

" _Incoming transmission."_

"Thank you," Grimoire's tone was deadpan. He tapped a code into the control screen in front of him. "Patch it through. I've got the video scrambled."

" _Good."_

The alert went way and a woman's face appeared on the viewscreen. Maera scooted her seat back, hoping to get out of range of the camera on their end.

Grimoire turned to look at her. He shook his head. "It's fine," he whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear. "Far as she knows, this thing's a tourist yacht with a busted camera. I've got an illusion cast over the hull, and I doctored the manifests."

Maera raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he turned back to the screen. He cleared his throat before speaking, his accent changing to something...stuffy. "Ah, sorry about that. My video's on the fry on my end, so sorry."

" _You're not funny, Grimoire."_ The woman replied, voice cool. " _I recognize your casting."_

The vedalken froze. "Damn..."

Maera leaned forward in her seat. "You know her?" She whispered.

Grimoire nodded. The woman on the screen smiled, the expression chilly. " _You haven't introduced me to your friend."_ Maera stiffened. " _Yes, I can see the both of you perfectly fine. Grimoire's datamancy would work well enough against an average inspection, but, well..."_ she shrugged. " _We're not so average."_

"What do you want?" From where Maera was sitting, she could see the vedalken 'walker's hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists. Her eyes narrowed; whatever bad blood was between them, it went deep.

" _We sensed a rather large—and rather_ _sharp_ — _aether burst"_ The chilly smile disappeared, and she eyed the pair of Planeswalkers through the video feed. " _Neither of you would have anything to do with that, now would you?"_

"Don't know what you're talking about."

" _Don't lie to me, Grimoire. You know what happens when you do. You were with us for long enough for us to figure out the signature of your 'planeswalking', and we picked up one such signature at that station. Which one of you caused it?"_

A cold tingle ran down Maera's spine. _These guys know about Planeswalkers? How?!_

"Then you need to get your instruments checked. I haven't done any planeswalking in weeks." Grimoire's hands were spidering over the controls of the console in front of him. "Now, can you _please_ move so I can get to FTL safely? I've seen what happens when ships get caught in the wake of an FTL jump."

The woman hummed. " _you know I can't do that. Whether that was caused by you or not, we've still got reasons to bring you back with us."_ She replied. Her gaze shifted from the vedalken in front of her to Maera. " _Young woman...you wouldn't happen to be missing an arm, would you?"_

Maera sat up straight. Grimoire glanced to her out of the corner of his eye. " _I checked the station master's records to see if there was anything strange happening about the same time we detected the planeswalking signature. And sure enough, there were recordings of a woman in strange clothes stumbling out of nowhere, covered in blood and missing an arm."_ Her eyes flicked back to Grimoire. " _Coincidentally,_ _you_ _were seen supporting that same woman back to your ship."_

A muscle worked in Maera's jaw. "What makes you so damn sure?"

The blonde woman's eyes narrowed. " _If we could pick it up, then I can guarantee that others with our capabilities can as well."_ She replied icily. " _I can already name one such group, with far less noble intentions."_

Grimoire snorted. "I wouldn't call your intentions 'noble' if you puked rainbows and glitter."

" _Charming. But you have to admit, we're far better than the alternative."_

The vedalken's eyes narrowed. "Better doesn't mean right. It's why I fucked off."

" _You can't leave the Inquisitorium. Not without dying first."_ The woman responded. " _Please don't make be do this the hard way, Grimoire. The paperwork'll be a pain in the ass if I blow you up by accident."_

"I feel so bad for you." His voice was deadpan. "Seriously. I don't care how much you hate the paperwork I'm not going back. And I'm not handing anyone over to you, either; I don't work for you bastards anymore."

The woman sighed. " _The hard way it is, then. I wish you didn't do this, Grimoire."_

The video feed was cut, and twin lines of fire traced their way across the space towards the ship. Grimoire set his jaw and slammed a command on his control screen, and a silver shield went up over the outside of the ship—just in time to catch the phase fire slamming into it, sending silver shimmers along its surface. Maera grabbed the sides of her seat as the ship rocked, but nothing seemed to be broken "I'm going to assume they're the ones you had the past with."

"Yes. And I'd rather not go into it."

"I can tell."

The vedalken's hands were flying over the controls. " _Sleipnir,_ take over navigation. You know what to do."

" _Yes. Avoid getting shot."_

Grim's mouth went into a thin line. "One smartass is enough, smartass."

" _All right."_ Another hit landed, this time causing a shake from the rear. " _Oh, you have_ _got_ _to be kidding me!"_

"They trying to shoot our asses off?" Maera leaned forward, peering over Grimoire's shoulder at how he was handling the controls.

The vedalken shook his head. "The Inquisitorium may think they know everything, but they at least have a sense of honor—such as it is. Iron-fisted they may be, they won't shoot you in the-" Another blow rocked them, this time from the side. "Damn it. _Sleipnir_ , who's shooting at us now?"

" _Uhh..."_

Grimoire's brow knitted as he frowned. " _Sleipnir._ Answer the question Who is it?"

" _You sure you don't want it to be a surprise?"_

Yet another blow sent silver spidering across the shields " _Sleipnir!"_

" _All right! We've got a group of Bleeders coming up our tail. They seem pretty focused on us for some reason"_

"Why?"

" _How would I know?! You're the techno mage! If I could've hacked them I would have!"_

Grimoire growled and grit his teeth. "I'm a bit busy here, _Sleipnir."_

" _Yes, I can see that."_ Another hit, this time from the Inquisitorium ship in front of them. " _I hate to say this Grim, but I don't think I can handle all the navigation while we're being shot at by two groups of crazy people."_

The frown on the vedalken's face deepened. "I'll handle keeping out of the way of the Bleeders if you can keep us out of the Inquisitorium fire."

" _Got it. What about weapons? Or are we going to run around and pray we don't get blasted?"_

Again Maera saw the muscle twitching in the vedalken's jaw. "I'd rather not space anyone if I can avoid it."

" _Personally, I'd rather not get blown up either. And if my database is correct, that wouldn't be too good for you two either."_

Grimoire growled in the back of his throat. "I know." He snarled something as the shield was hit bad enough to actually _tilt_ the ship to one side, and Maera swore as she was slammed back against her seat. "Damn it! How close is the nearest aether highway?!"

" _Close, but we'll need to get far enough from this firefight first. And then keep them off our tail long enough to get to jump speed."_

Grimoire was tapping at his controls, pointing the ship towards the twisting line highlighted on the map. "We'll need to shoot as we run."

" _Think you can handle that_ _and_ _part of the nav?"_

The shields ripped back from in front of the viewscreen before sliding back into place, and the edges of the screen flashed red. Grimoire grumbled something "Not really." He turned back to Maera. "You're a mage, right?"

Maera raised her eyebrows. "No, I'm a plumber."

"Sarcasm not appreciated."

Maera grunted. "I'm a battlemage who dabbles in artifice."

Grimoire gave a nod to the empty seat next to him. "Usually if I end up in a firefight, I let _Sleipnir_ take over the navigation while I deal with the issue. But with two sides firing at us—"

Maera was already sliding into the spot, pulling the IV out of her hand as she went "Just show me how to fire the thing."

"It's magitech," He quickly pointed to a gauntlet-looking thing to Maera's left side. "It draws aether from space and basically turns the phase cannon into a giant aether gun. That's the control for it."

A grin was spreading over Maera's face as she strapped into the seat. "Nifty. That a normal thing here?"

"Yes. You said you were a battlemage? How good is your aim?"

"I one time got a spitball stuck to Tezzeret's nose at 400 meters."

"Good. Pick any of the assholes shooting at us and fire."

Maera slid her hand into the gauntlet-control and grinned. "Gladly." _Now, how do I turn this thing on?_

Either the thing was automatic or it read her thoughts ( _Hell no thank you,_ she thought), because it whirred to life and adjusted to fit her hand snugly, but not uncomfortably. A line of lights flashed along the side, before all turning green and a targeting overlay lit up her side of the screen "I just draw mana like usual?"

"Yes."

"Got it." Maera picked out one of the attackers—the nice, sleek, slimline fighter was hard to miss, and the shininess of it reminded her of one of the pretentious rich assholes back home. She raised her hand to it, pointing with her finger, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction at the thought of messing up some douchebag's paint job. _Eat fire, bastards._

Maera swore as the ship jerked to the side, throwing her crosshairs wide. "Oi!"

"It was either that or have a firebolt up our exhaust, and I'd rather not be the won blowing up. Aim again!"

Grumbling under her breath, Maera picked out another one of the shiny and sleek fighters. A shit-eating grin creeped over her face as the crosshairs turned red. "Eat my aether, bitch!" She pulled the 'trigger' of her finger gun...

...and nothing happened.

An error message flashed over the screen Maera felt a buzzing in the gauntlet-hing, and the lights on the side were flashing red. She blinked. _But...no way. I_ _swear_ _I was drawing mana. I could_ _feel_ _myself drawing mana...!_

Grimoire glanced to the flashing error message and cursed. "Of all the times for... _Sleipnir!_ We're going FTL!"

" _What?!_ _We're not up to speed! What happened to not making a cold jump?!"_

"Change of plans! It's either that or getting a hold blown through the engines, and frankly—" Another hit to the shield jarred the craft, and the vedalken cursed again. "I'm rather _against_ turning into a fireball!"

" _So am I, but a cold jump will do that as well as one of their cannons."_

"Just do it. It's better to live to sort out your FTL drive than end up a debris field." He tapped something quick into his console. "Course change. That's where we're going."

" _You'd better be sure about this. It's going to be bumpy."_

"I am." He looked to Maera. "Hang on. He's not joking."

Maera had the edge of her console in a white-knuckled death grip. "Will I need a barf bag?"

The constant thrum in the floor was rising in pitch. "Probably." Grimoire replied, hanging onto his arm rests. "Just try to ignore it until the worst of it evens out."

Maera nodded, jaw shut tight. _I'm guessing that now would be a_ _very_ _bad time to point to him that I've never been at warp before._

She clamped her mouth shut as the screen whited out from the FTL jump.

* * *

 **I wish I could say this is the longest chapter...but it's not. It's really not. I'm pretty sure some of these are going to be twenty-plus pages, actually...yeep.**

 **Anyway. To stave off the inevitable questions; no, do not expect any canonical planeswalkers to make an appearance here, just mentions of how Maera's interacted with them in the past. And by interacted, I really mean "scarred for life" because she's a...well, she exists. I'm not sure what else I can say without making her sound like an asshole X'D. I mean she is, but well.**

 **Anyway, to quote a favorite author of mine on this site; reviews desired but not required. They do feel _really_ nice to read, though.**


	2. Shattered

**Two weeks later, as promised (I hope), here's chapter two of Birthright. First thanks go to ZadArchie for following, and to zWarLock for reviewing; Yeah, this fic is going to have a lot of fanwalkers X'D. And I couldn't resist making a space-age, high-tech fanplane either sooo...yeah. High magic + high science = Yes. Just. Yes.**

 **Anyway...I do not own Magic: The Gathering or anything related to it. If I did, well. Etrides would be canon.**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 **Shattered**

 **Maera** was still staring at her hand when Grimoire finally allowed himself to relax. He looked over to her. "Something wrong?"

Maera just shook her head. "I...I don't know." She said, still staring at the hand. "When I tried to draw aether through the control, it...didn't work. I felt like I was drawing mana, but when I went to use it there wasn't anything there..."

Grimoire tched. "It's probably malfunctioning. I haven't had to blast at anything faster than asteroids in a while. Going to have to get it checked out while I'm getting the FTL drive sorted out. Again."

Again Maera shook her head. "N...no, I don't think it's that." She swallowed.

Her companion frowned. "What makes you say that?"

She shrugged, ignoring the now-familiar twinge of protest from her injured shoulder. "I...I don't know. I doubt it's a handedness thing—spellcasting's about the only thing I'm ambidextrous with." She paused. "At least, always have been, anyway."

"Maybe it's the shock from losing an arm?"

Again, shrug. "I don't know. And I don't like that I don't know. Not knowing what's causing a problem tends to piss me off."

"I haven't known you for long, but seems like a _lot_ of things piss you off."

Maera grunted. "You're not wrong." She turned her left hand over, flexing her fingers, and reaching out with her senses. Sure enough, she felt the pulsing of the mana around them, the ship riding the current and allowing itself to be pulled along in the strange magic-induced FTL stream.

Closing her eyes, she sat back, feeling the current around her. She reached to the familiar sensation, drawing on the magic and drawing it into her...

" _AIIECH!"_

Maera toppled off the chair, holding her arm to her chest. She took several deep breaths, cold sweat trickling down her face. _That...that was not normal._

Grimoire was next to her in a second. "What the hells was _that?_ "

Maera shook her head, confused. "Don't know." She muttered, pulling her hand away from her chest and examining the damage. She grimaced. "Fuuuck..."

Grimoire took her hand in his and ran a gentle finger over the burns, eliciting a hiss of pain from Maera. "I've never seen _this_ happen from a magelight."

"It's not supposed to," Maera hissed. "Shit...what happened on Amonkhet must've fucked with my ability to draw mana."

"I'm assuming that's why you 'walked here?"

Maera nodded. "Trust me, it wasn't intentional."

"Considering the condition you were in, I believe it." He stood, holding out a hand to help her up. "What _did_ happen, anyway?"

"A load of bad decisions and very bad planning," Maera replied as she accepted the hand. She stood, only to almost fall over again as dizziness set in and her head spun. "What the fu...?"

Again, Grimoire caught her before her face met the deck. "Adrenaline wearing off." He said. "Let's get you some rest."

Maera glared at him. "I'm fine."

"You almost passed out."

"I'm. _Fine._ "

"Then explain why you're white as a sheet."

Maera rolled her eyes. "If I can stand on my own, will you believe me _then_?"

Grimoire raised a pierced eyebrow. "You're swaying."

"No I'm not."

"You are literally swaying like a drunk person. You look like you're about to fall over."

"No I won't."

"Right. I find that hard to believe coming from someone who looks like a corpse."

Maera did the first mature thing that came to mind; she stuck her tongue out at him. "I'm all right. See?"

She turned around, took a few steps...

...and fell ass-first into the nearest seat. She held her head. "Okay. Maybe not. Unless the room is _supposed_ to keep spinning."

"It isn't." Grimoire once again helped her up. "You. Rest. Now."

This time, Maera didn't protest. "All right, fine. Whatever gets me off the tilt-a-whirl."

 _ **-XXX-**_

 **Zachar** slid into the seat in his kitchenette and let his head fall to the tabletop. And banged said head against said tabletop a couple times.

" _I sense a headache coming on."_

"You don't even _have_ a head."

" _I meant in you."_

Zachar sighed and rolled his eyes before sitting back upright. " _Sleipnir_...why do I do stupid things like this?"

" _Because despite all odds, you're somehow still a decent person."_

The vedalken Planeswalker snorted. "Clearly you haven't known me long enough."

" _I've known you since you were born, Grim. If that's not long enough, I don't know what is."_

Another snort. _How'd I end up with the ship with the smartass AI?_ He ran a hand through his hair. "She still hasn't recovered from...whatever the hell happened before she 'walked here."

" _My assumption would be something bad. Most people don't actively try to lose limbs, after all."_

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

" _I try."_ A pause. _"Will you tell her?"_

Zachar paused and eyed the ceiling as he pulled the half-dismantled magitech gauntlet on the table towards him. "Tell her what?"

" _Your 'relationship' with the Inquisitorium. It seems only fair if you ask me."_

Zachar frowned and picked up a screwdriver. "It's not her fight."

" _Not yet. Sounds like your old bosses are hells-bent on making it her fight, though."_

"They can eat antimatter."

 _Sleipnir_ barked a laugh. _"You'll have to tell her, eventually. You always have to."_

"No, I don't. She's a Planeswalker, like me, and the Inquisitorium are a planesbound problem. _My_ planesbound problem. The rest of the Multiverse doesn't need it."

If he didn't know any better, Zachar would've sworn the AI sighed. _"They know about Planeswalkers, Zach, or did you forget? They know you're one; they've known almost from the moment your Spark ignited. They sent you on the riskiest jobs knowing that you had an out that nobody else did."_

Zachar's grip on the screwdriver tightened as he continued dismantling the gauntlet. "Which is one of the many reasons I left."

" _I still don't see why you didn't just leave Etrides entirely. It's not like anyone would've been able to track you through the Multiverse, just that you'd left."_

"I can't leave. You know that."

Again the sigh. _"You're stubborn, you know that?"_ If _Sleipnir_ had been a flesh-and-blood person rather than a ship's AI, Zachar had no doubt he'd be shaking his head. _"Okay, fine. Don't tell her about your connection to the Inquisitorium. At least tell her about the Bleeders."_

Zachar groaned and banged his head against the table again. _"Why._ They're as planesbound as the Inquisitorium."

" _Yes, but they're not as nice. The Inquisitorium just wants to have their hands on every bit of Etrides' workings. The Bleeders just want to destroy everything because of that ridiculous prophecy of theirs."_

The vedalken groaned again and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know. They're a band of loonies run by an even bigger loon, which is why most sane people don't pay attention to them. The only reason _I_ do is because their crazy cult got _started_ by a Planeswalker."

" _A cuckoo one."_

Zachar didn't argue. "How long until Sontra?"

" _A couple days, at this speed." Sleipnir_ paused. _"Zachar...do you think they're going to try and fulfill that insane prophecy of theirs?"_

Zachar shrugged, going back to taking apart the gauntlet. "Probably. Nir was right about one thing, though. The Bleeders might be crazy, but they aren't stupid; they likely picked up on that incoming planes walk."

" _Well, it's not like our friend was particularly quiet about it."_

Zachar grunted. "Hopefully once she's recovered, she'll be able to 'walk back off-plane and back to wherever she came from."

" _I'm surprised you're not more excited about this."_

"What do you mean?"

" _She's a Planeswalker. Like you. Aren't you always the one saying that you Planeswalkers are 'one in a billion' and how uncommon your type are and all that? I'd think you'd be jumping at the chance to hang around with another one."_

Again he grunted. "If it was any other plane, then probably yes." He replied. "As it is, there's too many factions running with too many short fuses, and more than a few of them would jump at the chance to have someone like her or me on their side."

" _Just like the Inquisitorium did."_ Again, the AI's voice seemed to have a sigh in it.

"Exactly. Which is why I've been keeping well out of theirs and the Bleeders' way."

" _Which once again brings me back to why you haven't left already."_

"Which brings _me_ back to the reason you full well know about."

" _You're more stubborn than an asteroid colony, you know that?"_

"I'll take that as a compliment."

 _Sleipnir_ snorted. _"It wasn't meant to be."_ A pause. _"Zachar...you have noticed the aether instability, right?"_

Zachar nodded. "Yes. I don't like it."

" _Good. I'm not the only one, then. Good to know that I'm not going insane."_

"Unless we're both going crazy." Zachar frowned at a particularly stubborn screw. "But I've heard enough stories from smugglers about getting shunted out of FTL with no warning. I don't' like it."

 _Sleipnir_ hmmed. _"The aether highways are breaking down."_

Zachar grunted in assent.

" _It's not natural, is it?"_

Zachar grunted again. "It doesn't feel like it, no." He replied. "It feels like something is trying to pull the plane's mana _to_ a central point, and it's affecting the aether highways."

" _And despite all all your protests to the contrary, you've been investigating it."_

"Why shouldn't I? Etrides is my home, _Sleipnir_. Believe it or not, I'd rather it not get blown up. Or whatever else is going to happen."

" _I still say you should read her in. who knows, she might even be able to crack whatever part of this puzzle that's stymieing you. What's that saying again? Something about two heads being better than one?"_

Zachar was silent for several long moments, as he carefully dismantled the gauntlet and laid its parts out on the table in front of him. "I said it before; this isn't her problem."

" _It's going to be, if the Bleeders are involved. They may not know the term 'Planeswalker', but they certainly know about people who 'go beyond reality'. And you know how crazy zealots can be."_

Zachar's mouth tightened. _Don't I know it._ He thought.

 _ **-XXX-**_

 **Maera** spent the following days trying to figure out what the _hell_ was wrong with her ability to access her mana bonds.

It resulted in many a spell misfire.

"There was _got_ to be an easier way of figuring out what's wrong."

Grimoire peered at her form where he was—yet again—bandaging one of her many burns. "Maybe the first step should be seeing a doctor, rather than frying your own fingers off."

Maera shot him a half-pout, half-glare. "You seem pretty damned competent when it comes to first aid."

"I've had to patch myself up a few times."

 _Sleipnir_ snorted. _"I don't consider your fully-stocked medical pay something that handles 'a few times'. I'd say it's more like 'resetting a bone every other week'."_

Grimoire threw a sealed syringe at the nearest wall panel. "Shut up."

" _It's true."_

"I still say shut up."

Maera looked at the spot the syringe had it with eyebrows raised. "Well. You two _sure_ you're not married?"

Grimoire paused. "I'm sorry?"

Maera shrugged. "You two argue like an old married couple. For Pete's sake, if I didn't know any better I'd say you two had a thing for each other."

The vedalken spluttered, while the AI laughed. _"Oh, that's good! Grim, I think I like this one. Can we keep her? Please?"_

Grimoire grumbled something under his breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "One these days I'm going to figure out a way to add a mute function to your programming." He groused. He returned to Maera's latest burn, and angry red one running along the inside of her forearm. "What, exactly, were you doing this time?"

Maera looked away, wishing she had a free arm she could rub the back of her neck with right about then. Her ears burned. "Well...um..."

She could _feel_ Grimoire's eyebrow raise. "Well?"

"I was...well...you're gonna think I'm an idiot."

She heard a quiet exhalation. "What did you do?"

"...I was drying to tie my shoes."

"...what?"

Maera shot a glare at the man. "I was trying to tie my goddamn shoes." She jerked her chin to the stump where her right arm had once connected to her shoulder. "I'm fucking right-handed. I can't do much with only one hand, let alone my left. So I...was trying to cast an unseen servant spell to tie my shoes."

Silence reigned in the medbay for several long moments, as the heat in Maera's ears moved into her cheeks and down her neck. Finally, Grimoire let out a tired breath and shook his head. "You could have just asked for help."

Maera felt her face redden even more. "I _don't_ need help tying my own damn shoes."

Grimoire pinched the bridge of his nose. "Powers you're stubborn," he grumbled. "What's your size?"

She blinked. "My what?"

"Your shoe size. I can lend you a pair of boots I'm not using, ones that don't have laces."

"Uh, tens..." Maera eyed him skeptically. "You're...lending me...a pair of your smelly old boots?"

"They're not smelly." Grimoire scowled at her.

"They will be when I'm done with them."

Again, the vedalken shook his head and sighed. He finished up taking care of Maera's latest wound (with a few colorful protests from the Planeswalker) before leaving the medbay. "Don't go anywhere."

Maera blinked at him, slowly. "Oh, no. I can't go out and get any fresh air." Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

Grimoire gave her a deadpan stare. "You know what I mean. Be right back." He disappeared, his footsteps receding back in the ship. They returned quickly, and he reentered the room with a pair of beaten-up, dusty, black leather boots. "These should fit."

Maera eyed him. "Why?"

Grimoire raised an eyebrow at her. "Why what?"

"Why are you lending me a pair of shoes?"

"You almost barbecued your arm trying to tie yours."

"Not what I meant," Maera sighed, starting to cross her arms. Then let her arm fall awkwardly to her lap when she remembered she was now missing one. "What I meant was, why are you doing this? You've known me for less than two days—"

" _Three. You were out cold for about thirty-six hours after Grim brought you here."_

"Okay, less than a week. And already you seem to be going out of your way to help me. Why?"

Grimoire stared at her a moment before putting the boots down beside her and pulling up a chair. He turned it around and straddled it, folding his arms over the seat back. "The easy answer? You look like crap. It was only logical that I get you off a main thoroughfare and away from a large group of people before someone started yelling about a blood-covered, one-armed maniac running about."

Maera grunted. "There's more than just logic to it though, right?"

A muscle worked in Grimoire's jaw as he considered his answer, and his grip shifted on the back of his chair. "...You could say that."

"Then what?"

Another pause. "We...people like us, Planeswalkers, we're...rare."

"No, I never noticed."

A soft snort. "Most people in the Multiverse never leave their home planes. And very few of them know about the Blind Eternities." He shrugged. "And even if they did know, there's not many who'd be willing to accept the fact that their universe is just one of thousands or tens of thousands out there."

"Let's just go with an infinite number, corny as it sounds."

Grimoire nodded. "If you went up to the average person on the street and told them you could travel to other universes, they'd look at you and ask what mental hospital you escaped from." he said, quietly. "And in my experience, it's kind of hard to bump into other Planeswalkers on the street. I don't know about you, but I don't make a habit of broadcasting my existence."

Maera hummed. "Makes sense. Most of us don't, really." She said, pulling up a knee and resting her arm on it. "Mostly because not all of us are friendly."

Grimoire snorted. "Don't I know it."

Maera cocked her head. "Had some personal experience, have you?"

Grimoire shrugged and opened his mouth to reply, when the lights flashed red and a klaxon blared. _"HANG ON TO SOMETHING!"_

Maera grabbed onto her seat as best she could with one hand. The floor started to shake. Badly. "What's happening?!"

Grimoire shook his head. _"Sleipnir_ , what is it?"

" _They aether highway's breaking down. We're being shunted out!"_

Maera looked to the vedalken with wide eyes. "Is that normal?"

He shook his head. "No." His head whipped around as something screeched overhead. He glanced up, went ashen, and shot towards her. _"Get down!"_

He slammed into Maera, sending them both to the ground as one of the light panels crashed down from the ceiling. He screamed something, but the words were lost as an earsplitting shriek of rending metal from outside tore at her ears.

She looked to where she'd last heard Grimoire when something slammed into the side of her head, and everything disappeared.


	3. Stranded

**Thanks this week go again to zWarLock for their review ^^~. And to MaxTheSpriggan and gmodder7 for their new favorites and reviews, thanks all!**

 **This is a question that zWarLock asked in the last chapter that I answered already via DMs, but I'm going to put it here for future reference anyway; the plane's name, Etrides, is pronounced Eh-tree-des.**

 **Quick shoutout to my friend GamerDragon13; herein lies a few very poor decisions on the part of at least one of the main characters. Feel free to poke fun at X'D.**

 **The usual disclaimers; I don't own Magic, any of its planeswalkers, etc. etc. All that is the property of Wizards of the Coast, I'm just writing this for fun.**

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

 **Stranded**

 **When** Maera came to, the smell of fried electronics, burnt metal and hair assailed her nostrils. She gagged at the stink cocktail; oh, yeah. Add blood to the mix, too. _The fuck...?_

She looked around, wincing. Her head was pounding from the blow it had taken, and looking around she saw a hunk of bloody metal from the bulkhead lying on the ground. Feeling where she'd been hit, she hissed again and pulled her hand away, with blood on her fingers. Another wince. _I hope there's not a concussion._

Klaxons were still blaring, the red flashing lights accompanying the emergency lighting. _Whatever happened must've thrown out main power,_ she thought, scanning the room. In any case, it didn't look like she'd been unconscious for long.

 _Didn't the ship say we were getting thrown out of the aether highway?_ Maera pressed her hand to her head, trying to compress the throbbing away. It seemed to be working, as it was going from a steady pound to a dull ache. Her glasses were cracked—again—no doubt from getting slammed to the floor and getting smacked in the head by a hunk of metal—

 _Wait._ The floor. _Someone_ had shoved her to the floor. Maera pushed herself up onto her side, taking in the medbay again. _Where's...?_

She spotted him lying underneath the light panel that had fallen from the ceiling. Like her, Grimoire had a gash on his head, and one of his legs looked like it was pinned awkwardly under the fallen panel. Her hand went to her mouth. _Blood...ech...whyyy..._

The vedalken stirred, groaning. Maera deflated, relieved a the sign of life. She scooted herself closer. "Don't move much, your leg looks fucked up."

Grimoire shifted anyway, and hissed. "'Fucked up' isn't the word." He replied, voice tight. "Help me get this off." He nodded to the panel.

Maera scooted over, then wormed her arm underneath the light panel and shoved, Grimoire helping as much as he could with his uninjured leg. Once it was off, the vedalken laid back, breathing heavily and face ashen—though that could as much be from the bad lighting as it was the leg wound. Eyes closed, he pointed a long finger to the bulkhead next to where they'd been sitting a few minutes before. "Medkit. Wall. Should be able to—" he hissed in pain as he tried sitting up, the movement jostling the broken leg (Maera's stomach churned just _looking_ at it). "Should be...should be able to fix up something."

Maera nodded, more than happy to have an excuse to look somewhere else. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep bile from rising; seeing her own blood she could handle. It was just _other people's_ blood that made her woozy. She grabbed the medkit and slid it over to Grimoire, who returned a pained nod in thanks. Buzzing static came from the ship intercom. "Is he supposed to be doing that?"

"No." The vedalken's reply was muffled from the bandages in his mouth. "He probably got scrambled when we were thrown out of the current...come over here, I'm going to need some help setting the leg."

Maera felt the blood drain from her face. "What."

Grimoire grimaced, pushing himself into a sitting position. He hissed something that sounded like an oath under his breath. "Get my leg set." He ground out. "Hold it in place while I get a splint on it."

Maera felt her stomach churning and her face turning green. "Uhh, I'm not the best person for that."

Grimoire gave her a pained scowl. "Don't tell me; you don't know the first thing about first aid?"

"Oh, no. I know _plenty_ about first-aid. I'm just a _lot_ better at dealing with my _own_ injuries than with others'. It's through sheer force of will that I haven't thrown up right now."

The vedalken 'walker wiped a hand down his face, groaning. "Fantastic." He went still, tilting his head towards the door. Maera was about to speak when he held up a finger for silence.

Maera closed her mouth, listening. Down the hall she heard voices, too far away to hear clearly, talking about something. Pressing her mouth into a thin line, she scooted back over to where Grimoire was on the floor, silently glad at the moment that she was barefoot.

Grimoire put a finger to his lips, then typed something on his gauntlet. He turned his arm so she could see. _Pirates. Probably waiting for this. Cover me while I get Sleipnir back online._

Maera nodded, then paused. She pointed to the screen on the gauntlet, raising her eyebrows in a silent _May I?_

The man nodded, and Maera typed her reply: _Get your leg set first. Just in case of firefight. Or running. Also infection._

Grim's mouth went into a thin line, glancing at the door as the voices got closer. _Fast._ He replied. _Getting close._ A pause. _Try not to puke._

Maera breathed a snort and pulled the medkit closer. Grimoire repositioned himself, stretching his broken leg out with a pained hissing noise. Maera popped open the kit, and stopped. Sure, there were things she recognized, such as bandages and painkiller pills, but some of the other items in it...baffled her. "Uh..."

"What?"

Maera blinked. Then looked at Grim and shrugged. Grimoire in turn pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned softly. "Oh, no..."

"I'm sorry!"

"Never mind. Just the splint. Worry about the rest later." He nodded to the leg. "Have you set a bone before?"

"Once. With help. My friend Darren was running from Lise after dropping a spider on her, and his foot got caught in a rabbit hole. I barfed on Niko's shoes."

"Comforting."

"I told you; medical stuff is _not_ my strong suit."

Grimoire grunted and held up a hand for silence. No sound, but that didn't mean the pirates were out of earshot. For all they knew, they could be right next to the door, just waiting for them to leave. He nodded, shifted his leg, grimaced, and gave Maera a nod. "Do it."

The half-fae nodded, and put a hand on one side of the break and a knee on the other. Grimoire hissed, but motioned for her to keep going as he bit down on the sleeve of his jacket—hard. Gritting her own teeth, Maera pulled—slowly, getting the break back into place.

Grimoire screwed his eyes shut and screamed into his sleeve, banging his head against the wall he was sitting against. Maera licked her lips and then bit her tongue as she finished setting and splinting the leg, using what looked like a pair of splints and compression wraps she found in the kit. When she was done, Grim pointed a shaking finger to the kit. "Pain...killers...should be...codeine...in there. Labeled C. Blue syringe."

Maera fished around, picking out a blue hypospray (well, she labeled it a hypospray anyway—blame her fascination with _Star Trek_ ) and held it up. Grim nodded and motioned for it. She handed it over, and he pressed it to his thigh and depressed a button on the side of the thing, sagging as the painkiller entered his system. After a few moments and deep breaths, he opened his eyes. "Help me up." He whispered, holding out a hand.

Maera stood and took it, pulling the man to his feet. He hissed in pain and grimaced, and almost fell over. She started to ease him towards one of the seats, but he shook his head and leaned against the wall, taking as much of his weight as possible off of the splinted limb. "I'll be fine," he muttered. He nodded to another spot on the wall where the medkit had been. "Spare blaster. Get it."

Maera raised an eyebrow. "You keep a blaster in the medbay?"

"I keep at least one in _every_ compartment. Emergencies."

"The hell do you _do_ for a living?!"

"Tell you later. Get the blaster. Cover me." He paused, listening for the pirates' voices again. Still silence, and something in Maera's gut told that was _not_ a good thing. "The faster the better."

Maera nodded once and went to the wall, having to fidget with the panel in question before being able to get it open one-handed. She jumped as it clattered to the floor, and Grimoire shot her a nasty glare from where he was rewiring the wall computer console. Maera gave him a sheepish shrug before grabbing the blaster and positioning herself next to the door.

Thankfully—or not, depending on how smart the pirates were and how optimistic you wanted to be—Maera had a straight view down the corridor, even if there was smoke in the air from the damage the sudden drop from FTL caused. She kept her breathing as quiet as possible and flipped on the power for the blaster, hoping that the little green indicator light meant that it was on stun rather than kill. She peered around the doorway, not for the first time grateful that she had somewhat better night vision than the average human—myopia notwithstanding.

 _If only my range of hearing was a little above average too._

Regardless, she could still make out the silhouettes of three pirates, picking their way through the dim emergency lighting. From the looks of it, they were looking for something. Or someone... _Her eyes narrowed. Were they waiting for us to randomly fall out of FTL, or did they do something to_ _force_ _us out of the current?_

Her grip on the blaster tightened. She glanced over to Grimoire, who was both using the wall as a prop to stay upright as well as try to rewire the fried circuitry from the medbay. He was frowning, the crease between his eyebrows betraying his frustration. He looked up and shrugged, before going back to the task.

Maera took another look outside, gauging how far the pirates were. They'd stopped, and looked to be talking amongst themselves. Deciding to take advantage of the dim light and possible distraction, she quickly crossed over to where Grimoire was attempting to repair the damage to the computer. "Getting anywhere?"

Grim shook his head. "Getting shunted out of the aether highway did a number on our systems." He whispered. "Half the circuits in the panel here are fried. I can't bypass them enough to be able to talk to _Sleipnir._ "

"You think that means _Sleipnir_ can't do a whole lot either?"

He grunted softly. "Likely. If the circuits are too fried, no matter how pissed _Sleipnir_ gets he won't be able to do much of anything. Unless he wants to blow out even more and fry his core.

"Which would be bad."

"Exactly."

Maera grunted and peeked out the door again. "How long d'you think it'll take you to get to wherever _Sleipnir_ 's central core is?"

"Longer than I'd like. It's down on the lower deck in engineering. The only other places where I'd have a better chance of proper rewiring are in my quarters or the cockpit."

"Aka, the other end of the ship."

"Exactly."

Maera hummed. "Do you think we'd be able to make it if I gave you cover?"

Grim gave her a droll look. "Under normal circumstances? Yes. Right now? Unlikely."

Maera nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as she thought. "...do you have a headset? One that _isn't_ connected to intraship comms?"

Grimoire peered at her. "Yes...what are you thinking?"

"I go up front, you stay here." She nodded to the panel. "You give me directions how to do the rewiring from here."

"You won't be able to hold the blaster and do the wiring at the same time."

"True. But would you be as likely to make it to the bridge without passing out, even _with_ me shooting at the pirates?"

A muscle worked in Grimoire's jaw. "No." He eyed her. "Are you sure?"

"Mostly. Kind of." She shrugged. "We don't have a lot of other options. Run like hell or bust."

Grim snorted. "Get going, then." He turned back to the panel. "I'll see what I can do here till I hear from you on the bridge. There should be a headset hooked underneath the nav controls."

Maera nodded and gave him a salute with the blaster. "Good luck."

"Same to you. Now go."

Maera slunk out of the medbay, sticking around the walls and sliding her feet along the floor to both minimize noise _and_ keep from stepping on anything potentially harmful to bare feet. _If Bels were here, she'd be chewing me out for being an idiot and running around a damaged ship with no shoes on._ She thought, a smirk twisting the corner of her mouth. _If I manage to get out of this new mess, I'm going to drag her here so I can have a_ _proper_ _geek-out._

 _No, wait._ _When_ _._ _When_ _I get myself out of this new mess I'm going to drag Belinda here and be a geek._

Slowly, silently, Maera skirted the edges away from the pirates, keeping to the areas not lit by emergency lighting as she made her way to the bridge. It wasn't far, but it still felt like it was taking an eternity. She looked around, ensuring that there weren't any of the pirates nearby before checking the cockpit. It was empty.

Once in, Maera let herself breathe a sigh of relief. _And Jace and Bels say I'm no good at stealth._ She thought with satisfaction, stowing the blaster in her belt and striding to the nav controls. She fished around underneath, finding the headset Grim had mentioned. She gave it a quick once-over to find the on button before slipping it over her ear and activating it.

A soft beep went off in her ear as a holographic screen overlaid her vision. "Whoa! What the—"

" _Shush!"_ Grimoire hissed on his end. " _Did you find the HUD?"_

"Uh, yeah." She blinked, and it turned off. "Ah, crud, I think I killed it, hang on..."

" _Blink twice."_

"Thanks..." she did so, and sure enough the HUD returned. "Okay. That's figured out. What—" she stopped as she heard voices outside.

" _Maera?"_

"Shh." She tilted her head towards the door, listening. She'd heard someone talking outside, and she was 99% sure it wasn't her companion...

Deciding to play it safe, she ducked under the console, putting the chair between herself and the door. The HUD from the earpiece flashed, marking that there was _someone_ out there, but not how many or their species. _Probably because it's not currently connected to the main computer._ Maera thought as the man spoke again, closer to the door this time.

"...sure she's here?"

" _Yes_. The Progenitor foretold that his Messiah would arrive, and gave us the means to know when they would be here. She is _here_ , I can feel it."

Maera reached around and gripped the blaster tight in her hand, though not drawing it from where it was shoved through her belt. _This Progenitor of theirs sounds like a know-it-all. I already don't like them._ She thought.

"Trust in my judgment, friend; I know the Messiah is here. We will find her, even if we have to strip this ship to its scaffold to do so."

"What about her champion?"

"He is not the Messiah, and therefore not our concern. Focus on finding our Messiah now, worry about the spare later."

By now her grip on the blaster was so tight Maera swore her knuckles were white. _Spare? Excuse me?! I might not've known the guy for more than a week but bitch, if you try pulling some dumb shit—_

" _Maera, what was that?"_

Maera waited until the voices had shifted away before replying quietly. "Pretty sure I almost got caught." She whispered. Once she was certain they were back out of ear- and eyeshot, she popped back out from her hiding spot and into the navigator's seat. "What do I do?"

" _All right...it'll be easier if I can see this."_

"You're in the medbay, remember?"

" _Yes, but there should be a way to link our two headsets so I see what you see. You see the B in the side menu?"_

"The B?"

" _Do you see it?"_

To be honest, Maera didn't see _any_ side menu. She glanced to both sides, seeing nothing. "Which side is it on?"

" _Right. Hover your eyes over there for a second and it should pop up."_

She did so, frowning. It popped up. _Finally._ "Got it. I see the B."

" _Good. Hover your eyes over it for a second and blink twice. It'll activate, and you'll see a green border flash around your HUD for a second. That's the broadcast function turning on. After that, I'll be able to see what you're on your end via_ _my_ _headset; I've got them set up on a linked system."_

 _Just like high-tech walkie-talkies._ Maera thought, following the instructions. "Got it?"

" _Yes. Okay, I'm going to try and step you through rewiring the main comms up there, so you'll have to get on the floor and start rooting around under the consoles. Hopefully things aren't too fried and we'll be able to make all the connections we need to there, rather than you getting down to engineering."_

Maera slid off her chair and squirmed underneath the console, trying not to jostle her vision too much for the sake of Grim. "I'm pretty sure the lower deck is where those pirates are running about right now. It was way too easy sneaking past them."

She heard Grim make a sound on his end. " _Somehow, I'm not comforted by that."_ He deadpanned. " _Okay, pry open that panel in front of you. You should be able to use your fingernails, but it'll take a bit and it'll probably drop on your face since you're working one-handed."_

Maera rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks for the warning." She grumbled. "You realize I kind of have to leave the glasses on so I can see straight, right?"

" _It's not_ _that_ _heavy. Your glasses should be fine if the panel hits them. Besides, they're already cracked from earlier."_

Again she rolled her eyes. "And people say _I've_ got a bad bedside manner."

" _I'm sorry?"_

"Never mind." She knitted her brows as she worked the panel in question loose, but eventually it came free. "What next?"

" _Start disconnecting anything you see that's been fried. Then I'll try and have you bypass all the fried parts."_

"Right..." Maera muttered, starting on disconnecting the fried wires. She hissed and swore as one of them sparked. "Ouch! Motherfucker!"

" _Remind me never to have you repair an impulse drive."_

"Shaddup." She sucked on the finger she'd burned. "Why the hell would we get shoved out of the aether current? Is that common?"

" _No. In fact, it's not supposed to happen at all; until recently they've been stable."_ Grimoire replied. " _It's only been in the last few years that there's been ships shunted out of aether highways, either because they destabilize or disappear altogether."_

Maera paused, frowning. "Aether disappearing? That...doesn't seem possible. Aether is another form of mana, and mana just doesn't _stop_ existing for no reason."

" _No it doesn't, but that's what looks like is happening._ _Something's_ _mucking with the mana of Etrides. Okay, looks like you've got all the fried stuff out. Time to start rerouting power."_

"Where do I start?"

" _You see the clearish-green wires that're still kind of glowing?"_

"Yeah."

" _Start with those. They've still got power, so you should be able to use those to power Sleipnir's intraship comms. Try working those loose and start—"_

Maera frowned as he cut off. "Grim? What's wrong?"

" _...I thought I heard something."_ He let out a breath. " _Anyway, start moving those to—"_

She swore as a line of blaster fire screeched into the cockpit. " _Show yourself!"_

" _Maera, what's happening?!"_

Maera scooted out from under the console as another line of fire hit it. "Assholes are happening!" She snapped, drawing her blaster and moving along the wall towards the door. "Tell me this thing has a stun setting."

" _Is the light blue?"_

She checked. "Green."

" _Switch is on the side. You take care of the people shooting at you and I'll continue trying my best down here."_

Maera flipped the switch and the indicator turned bright blue. The blaster fire had stopped, and that didn't comfort her at all. "Right." She deactivated the overlay mode, and heard a screech, a thud, and a scream from the other end. "Grimoire? What's happening down there?!"

" _Just take care of the—"_ The rest of his reply was garbled, before the link went dead. _Well, shit._

She scowled and poked her head around the door and shot off a couple shots, hearing one of the pirates let out an oath as he was hit. Followed very quickly by return fire.

Maera ducked back behind the wall, snarling curses in German. _I'm shooting left-handed. Grimoire's caught up in the medbay trying to get Sleipnir back up and running. There's at least three pirates shooting at us, and probably more on their ship. And my ability to draw mana properly is shot to hell for some gods-awful reason._ She thought, checking the charge on the blaster. It was still good, but her shots had been going wide. Granted, she hadn't exactly been aiming for anything vital, either...

" _One day your summer will end, Maera. It does for all of us who choose the path we have."_

She set her jaw. Why had _that_ popped into her head, now of all moments? It wasn't like she hadn't been in life-or-death situations since meeting her ancestor, after all...

She heard someone shift behind her. "You aim badly for someone used to handling a weapon, Messiah."

Instincts took over. Maera dove to the side, springing up from her roll into a firing position, her blaster aimed at her ambusher's pistol hand. He was wearing...she didn't know in _what_ universe it'd be sensible space pirate attire. His jumpsuit was black with gold running down down either side, and shoulder pads that spiked out at the shoulders. It was double-breasted, with a stiff collar that looked more like it belonged on a greatcoat than his bodysuit. And he wore a half-cape over one shoulder, with boots whose heels had to be at least three inches high.

 _And people say_ _I'm_ _vain in a fight. At least I have better fashion taste than this clown._

Followed by, _How the hell did he_ _get there_ _?!_

The man didn't seem phased by her reaction. Instead he just readjusted his aim. "You have no need to fear me, Messiah."

"You have a gun pointed at my face. I'm not so much afraid right now as I am pissed off."

He smiled, eyes chilly. "Understandable. You are no doubt unaware of your importance to our order."

"I ain't got nothing to do with whatever crazy, fashion-challenged cult you're a part of."

"Little do you know, you already do."

"Ya mind telling me _exactly_ what kind of cult I'm supposedly connected to? What's this 'Messiah' thing you're blathering about?"

"All in good time." The man closed the distance between them, extending a hand. He kept his blaster up, though. "Accept your rightful place among us and our leader shall explain all."

Maera didn't reply. At least, not right away. Instead, she felt around her for the aether current they'd been riding; it was still there, and still flowing strong. _So we didn't have the proverbial rug yanked out from under us._ _Doesn't feel like it's going anywhere either..._ She felt a tingle in the back of her skull as she pulled the mana into herself...or tried to. The more she tried to hang onto the magic, the more it slipped away. _If the debacle on Amonkhet caused this I'm_ _so_ _going to track down Bolas and shove a red-hot poker up his scaly, smelly, giant asshole._

The image in her head made her want to laugh, but she stifled the giggles and kept the blaster aimed at the man's head. He dropped his hand, sighing. "A shame. It seems you have no intention to come with me."

"Doesn't sound particularly appealing, no."

He hummed. He put a finger to the earpiece in his ear. "Bring the boy. Our Messiah doesn't appear to wish to join our crusade."

"Looking and acting like some crazy religious zealot isn't helping the image, buddy."

He frowned at her and lowered his hand. "Do you care for your companion?"

Maera blinked. Well, _that_ was out of the blue. "...Why?"

"Do you wish to see him unharmed?"

"Well, considering how he's a lot more likable than you."

"Good." He turned to leave the room. "Care to join me?"

"No."

"Suit yourself." Suddenly, he was gone. Maera barely had time to react before something hard and metal smacked into the side of the head. The woman stumbled, stunned by the hit. His knee came up and slammed into her gut, sending her sprawling to the ground. Roughly, he pulled her up the collar and shoved her out the door in front of him.

She caught herself on her left arm, keeping herself from slamming face-first into the deck. She was picking herself up as a boot slammed down on the middle of her back, pinning her down. "You're about to find out how much of a burden caring can be."

Maera kicked out behind her, hoping to catch his other foot and trip him. All she got was a cold chuckle. "Fuck _you._ "

"I'm sorry, but I'm celibate." He pressed down for a moment, and Maera let out a protesting sound. "I'd look up if I were you."

She did so, and was greeted with the sight of Grimoire being shoved roughly to the ground, a gash on his cheek sheeting blood down his face and his arms bound behind his back. He grimaced and hissed in pain as he landed, the brunt of it taken by his broken leg. "You look like hell."

The vedalken groaned and shifted as best he could, and gave her a grim smirk. "Coming from the one missing an arm."

"Your face is bleeding."

"So's yours."

"My leg isn't broken."

"Half your face is purple."

"You literally look like someone tried shoving you through a paper shredder."

The man stepping on her back groaned.

Maera grinned.

Grim raised a sardonic eyebrow. "You get off on annoying people, don't you?"

"What can I say? I love being an asshole. It's part of my charm."

One of the younger pirates groaned and looked to his superior. "Please, make her stop."

Another one piped up, "...can we have a different Messiah?"

Maera's wide grin turned into an all-out laugh.

The man pressed down harder. " _Quiet."_ He snarled. "What did you two find?"

"These." One of the pirates held up an object, and Maera had to crane her neck to see what it was. Her eyes went wide.

" _Put that down you motherfuckers!"_

She could hear the sneer in the senior douchebag's voice as he spoke. "Ahh, so that sword is yours?" He said. "Where would you get such a thing? I see no energy ports. It looks like an ancient saber to me."

"It's not a saber. It's a katana. And I swear to _god_ that if you don't put it down I'm going to blow your hand clean off and take it that way!"

The leader hmmed. "An ancient sword, a spell-woven blaster, and a piece of Eternity in your soul." He mused. "It's as the Progenitor foretold. You are our Messiah."

"I ain't _nobody's_ Messiah. And who the hell is your Progenitor, some wack who thinks he's a god?"

"The Progenitor _is_ our god. And he foretold your arrival." A beat. "You _must_ join us; it is your destiny to lead all of Etrides to the Eternities, and to bring us all into that divinity."

Maera's spine chilled. _The Eternities. Somehow, I don't think that's anything other than the_ _Blind_ _Eternities._ She thought. _And I don't like the idea of 'leading all of Etrides' into a place that rips anyone who isn't a Planeswalker into subatomic bits._

 _These guys are nuts._

" **I don't think I've quite gotten through to you;** _fuck no._ "

Again she could _hear_ the sneer in his voice. "I'd reconsider if I were you." He addressed his two goons. "Break his knee."

The goon that had shoved Grimoire to the ground acted without hesitation. He drove his heel hard into the vedalken's knee, the same leg that had been broken by the light panel. Grim shrieked as the bone cracked, both stomach-churning sounds that made Maera feel sick.

"You. Mother. _Fuckers._ "

"You don't seem to be very creative with insults. That's the third or fourth time for that one." Her captor's voice was too calm. "Next is his skull. Unless you choose to take your place in our mission."

Maera craned her neck, glaring at the man holding her down. "Your conversion speech needs some serious work, asshole."

The man frowned at her, then nodded to his subordinate. "Show her we don't joke."

Maera felt her blood turn cold. _Fucking hell. I am_ _not_ _watching someone die. I've had to watch too much death, to hell with letting this happen!_ Ignoring the warning bells in her mind, Maera reached out with her senses and drew what mana she could grasp. _I'm desperate here._ _Please_ _let this work!_

Slowly, she felt the magic build. Normally, it'd be accompanied by the familiar coolness of blue magic, but this time it was filled with a painful _burn_. Maera ignored it, and instead channeled it into a spell, throwing in all her desperation and anger as fuel.

" _Brisingr."_

Icy cold fire sheathed her arm and shoulders, eliciting a pained yelp from the head pirate (or zealot, depending on how you looked at it). Maera rolled to her feet, lashing out with her arm, slamming him back and pinning him to the wall with solidified flame. More sensing than hearing the next goon, she spun on her heel and landed a solid punch to the jaw, the goon going down cold.

She turned to the last guy, who looked like he was about to piss his pants. "I suggest you take your buddies and go." She said, giving him the coldest glare she could muster. Her arm hurt. Her shoulders hurt. Her back hurt. "I don't like killing."

The kid stood there, wide-eyed with terror. "M-Messiah—"

"I ain't _nobody's_ fucking messiah." She pointed to the sword. "Now drop the katana, take your friends, and amscray. Before I _make_ you scram, and you won't want that."

The kid didn't need any prompting. He dropped the sword and did as she said, Maera glaring at him as he retrieved his unconscious allies and dragged them back onto the pirates' ship. Once gone, she sagged, the magic dissipating. She didn't need to look at her left arm to know it was in bad shape; she could feel the burns from forcing the spell. Knowing she'd feel sick, she looked down at her arm to see how badly she'd managed to hurt herself.

She looked away. _That was a bad idea. A very bad idea._

Still. Other problems. Wincing, she knelt down next to Grim. "You still conscious?"

He groaned in reply. "You're an idiot."

"Yes, I know."

"Your arm's frostbitten."

Maera was clumsily undoing the restraints on his wrists. "Don't remind me. Please. I might puke if I look at it too long." Once done, she stood, holding out a hand. "Here, lemme help you up."

Grimoire grunted and allowed himself to be helped up. His face went pale and he looked as if he were about to faint, but he stayed upright and accepted Maera's shoulder as a crutch. "Lately it seems _I've_ been the one helping _you_ get around."

Maera snorted. "Consider it my way of paying you back." She said as they entered the cockpit, she being careful not to jostle the vedalken's mangled leg too badly. "Though I'm going to want some explanation as to why those loons were calling me their 'Messiah'."

"Once we get _Sleipnir_ back up and running," Grim said as he slid back down into a chair. "Did you manage to get any of the powered cables attached?"

"A few, but not many before those assholes started shooting at me."

He grunted. "Better than nothing, I guess. Let's see what we've got." His hands flew over the controls with practiced ease, much better than Maera's own fumbling earlier. His face brightened. "Well, good news and bad news. The good news is that _Sleipnir_ should have enough power for intraship comms."

"And the bad news?"

Grimoire sighed, running a hand down his face. "The bad news is our FTL drive is fried." He said. "When those cultists yanked us out of the highway, it forced us out of FTL and fried the drive. There was some damage done to the sublight engines, but they're still operable."

Maera felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. "How long'll it take us to get to Sontra, then?"

Grim blew out a noisy breath. "A month. Or more. Way too long to go on just sublight."

The half-faerie pinched the bridge of her nose. "Is there anyplace closer?"

" _Saiyani Spaceport, above Alkonost IV. It'll be a two-week flight on sublight though."_

Grim raised an eyebrow as the AI spoke. "Nice of you to speak up."

" _Well excuuuuse me for having my circuits fried! While you two were having fun fighting off cultist pirates,_ _I_ _was trying to get my wires uncrossed enough to put together a coherent thought!"_

"A simple 'thank you' would've sufficed."

" _What's there to thank you for?!"_

"For one, Maera nearly got shot in the butt while rerouting power to your brain."

"Oi!"

" _Well yippee then, thank you_ _so_ _much. Then how did the_ _console_ _get shot up and fried?!"_

"Blame the pirates. They were the assholes trying to shoot my butt off. And my face. And my balls. And everything else."

Grimoire raised an eyebrow at her. "You don't have balls."

"Yes I do. They're just inside, not hanging out with a big fat target on them."

A snort of laughter came from the comm speaker. " _Oh, this is going to be a fuuun trip, Grim. I hope you like white coats."_

A groan escaped the vedalken. "Shut up."

* * *

 **You'd think a _battlemage_ would be better at not doing dumb stuff, but apparently with Maera that is not the case, ehe ^^. In any case, that's the start of, ehhh, the first hints of the Big Bad of this story. Which will, likely, result in more Bad Decisions XP.**

 **Anyway, the usual; if you like this so far, favorite, subscribe, etc. And leave a review if you want, or don't, since I'm not going to hold this story hostage for X reviews because gods that's dumb. But getting reviews anyway still feels nice ^^~**


	4. Kicking a Bee's Nest

**Thanks for this update go to Arkham Wyntier (formerly zWarLock) for their review and favorite of this story ^^. There's not a whole lot of action in this chapter, but there's more plot lead-up and character backgrounds, so hopefully that evens out ^^. Maera is a _huge_ nerd, so there's going to be a _lot_ of references to various things throughout this fanfic.**

 **As for the lateness, I apologize _;. Normally I try and get a new chapter out every other Friday or Saturday, but this one was delayed due to getting things set up for a friend's birthday party. Ideally there aren't any delays, connection, health, and IRL plans notwithstanding.**

 **Also, fair warning; there might be a few stray typos and/or mispellings. Usually there aren't _too_ many problems with that, but OpenOffice seems to have forgotten how to English and is now registering _everything_ as mispelled. I've no idea why, since it seems the dictionary is either not working or was somehow deleted altogether (if it has, I'm blaming Windows. They screw everything up), but all I know is OpenOffice is being weird. So I had to make sure all the spelling was good by hand and while I'm 95% sure it is, there might be the odd blooper I missed. If there is, whups.**

 **Disclaimer: Y'all know what this says by now. I don't own Magic: The Gathering, the game and all the lore belongs to Wizards of the Coast. I only own my fanwalkers and fanplanes, as I'm writing this for my own amusement.**

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

 **Kicking a Bee's Nest**

 **The** two weeks to Saiyani Spaceport was spent in perpetual boredom. The many attempts to break up the monotony included Maera repeatedly oiling Icefire ("Is that sword your safety blanket or something?"), Grimoire finding out and then promptly deciding to try and fix Maera's fried smartphone ("You weren't kidding when you said your plane's tech was archaic."), and the vedalken teaching her how to pilot _Sleipnir_. Or, trying to, at least.

The ship had more than a few opinions about her skill in the cockpit.

" _THAT'S AN ASTEROID, NOT A HULL DECORATION!"_

Maera slammed the control to port to avoid the asteroid in question as Grimoire hung on to the seat next to her, white-knuckled and turning green. They _barely_ missed the space rock, and the woman breathed a sigh of relief. "Um. Whups."

" _Whups is_ _not_ _the word. Have you_ _ever_ _been on a spaceship before?"_

"No."

" _Oh. My. God. Grim, please make her stop. I don't think my circuits can take much more of this..."_

"Your circuits are fine. It's _my_ nerves I'm worried about."

Maera gave him a deadpan look. "Well excuse me for not being born in the friggin' Federation. Wrong century on my world."

Grim rubbed a hand down his face, sighing. "I can't wait until we reach Saiyani."

"You and me both." Maera leaned back in her chair, resting her hand behind her head. "How's your leg?"

Grim snorted softly. "Fine enough, I guess. Spending half my time drugged up on painkillers so I'm functional, anyway."

" _I keep on telling you to get a medibot. But nooo, you say we don't need one because you can handle injuries all by yourself."_

"I'm handling this one, aren't I?"

" _You_ _just_ _said you were stoned on painkillers!"_

"No, I said I was _drugged up_ on painkillers. There's a difference."

" _What's the difference?!"_

"The difference is that I'm coherent, rather than stumbling into walls like a drunk."

" _That's debatable."_

Maera, meanwhile was listening to the exchange with amusement. "You know, you two sound like an old married couple."

Grimoire stared at her, and Maera had the feeling that if _Sleipnir_ could the ship would be too. " _What."_

She shrugged. "I'm serious. You two sound like a pair of husbands who've been married for the past eighty years bitching at each other about who was supposed to take out the garbage last night."

Grim blinked at her. Then shook his head. "Please tell me we're getting close to the port."

" _Sorry, there's still another five days to go."_

Grimoire groaned and leaned back into his chair, hands over his face. "Eternities, I'm going to go insane before we get there."

"You know, a friend of mine once said that _all_ Planeswalkers were at least partly insane, whether they admit it or not..."

Grim glared at her through a gap in his fingers. "Not. Helping."

Maera shrugged again. "Just sayin'."

Grimoire's glare didn't abate. If anything, it darkened. He sighed again and rubbed his face before dropping his hands. "How's the arm?"

Maera looked to the bandaged limb. She flexed her fingers. "Fine, I guess." She replied. "Sore, sure, but I guess that's to be expected." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Leg?"

Grim grunted. "Fine."

" _Despite being stoned on painkillers."_

"I am _not_ stoned on painkillers!"

" _Semantics."_

Now it was Maera's turn to roll her eyes. "You need to get a punching bag."

"...Why?"

"So I have something to beat the lights out of so I don't go insane listening to _you two_ snipe at each other all day."

"Your answer to everything is violence, isn't it?"

"No it's not."

"Riiight."

" _I seem to remember one of you mentioning something about an 'old married couple'..."_

Maera threw a wadded-up sheet of paper at the console. "Shut up."

Grimoire held out a hand palm-up in Maera's direction. "I rest my case."

"You shut up too."

"I don't hear you denying it."

Maera sat back and shoved her hand in her pocket. "I'm good at beating shit up. Not so good at being stuck in a tiny spaceship for two weeks with only a snarky AI and emo vedalken for company."

" _I'm not tiny! I have room for up to ten crew, for your information!"_

"Yeah, in coffin bunks. D'you know how many times I've smacked my head on the top of my bunk? _Every damn morning!_ I've got a black-and-blue spot in the middle of my forehead!"

Grimoire gave her another glare. "I'm not emo."

"Yes you are. You look like an edgy emo kid who's trying to look punk."

"And you look like a slob."

"I do not!"

"You're literally wearing the same shirt as yesterday."

"...no I'm not."

"I can see where you dumped pizza and coffee down your front. And please tell me that isn't a _rope_ holding your pants up..."

"I couldn't find a belt, okay?!"

" _Couple, old, married."_

" _Can it!"_

The duo sat and fumed in their seats for a minute, before a smile started quirking at the edges of Maera's mouth. Then it morphed into a grin, then a snicker, until finally she was all-out laughing. Grimoire gave her a strange 'wtf' expression. "...Are you okay?"

Maera wiped at the corner of her eye. "Yeah," she replied, still laughing. "It's just, well...you'd fit _right_ in with my friends."

"Are they all as broken as you?"

"Yeah. Just don't ever tell Jace that. Or Gideon. They'd both glare at you. And I'm pretty sure Nissa would point at Liliana and say she's the most broken of us all." She paused. "...Though I wouldn't exactly argue that fact. Anybody who hangs around half-rotten corpses has _got_ to have some issues."

"Are you all Planeswalkers?"

Maera shook her head. "Not _everyone_. Niko, Darren, Lise, and Troy aren't." She said. "Bels, Karr, Jace, Gids, Szord, Chandra, Ral...they all are." Her smile faded. "I just wish to hell that I knew where they were..."

Grimoire's brow knitted. "What happened?"

Maera let out a deep breath, not answering right away. She fiddled with a lock of hair, scuffing her foot on the deck. "...Shit is what happened." She said, voice soft. "We went barreling onto a plane called Amonkhet to take on a bit, scaly douchebag who's been mucking about causing trouble all over the Multiverse, named Nicol Bolas—or as I like to call him, Nicol Butthead."

"Let me guess; he's a Planeswalker too."

Maera nodded. "And the biggest asshole you'll ever meet. And I've met some damned big ones." She replied. "'Bout...forty- or fifty-ish years ago he showed up on Amonkhet and set himself up as 'God-Pharaoh', killing pretty much anyone old enough to know better. All to put together a giant undead army for some reason. I think." She let out a breath and rubbed her eyes with thumb and forefinger. "Well, a bunch of friends and I—the Gatewatch, after Sea Gate on Zendikar—decided we'd find this guy and kill him."

"I'm assuming by the condition you were in when you showed up on Etrides, you didn't succeed."

"Putting it mildly." Maera let her hand fall limply to her side, leaning her head back on the headrest. She closed her eyes. "In short, we got our asses handed to us. We basically showed up with no better plan than 'fuck up Bolas', and he countered literally _everything_ we threw at him. And we threw _everything we had_ at him." She clenched her fist, ignoring the protests from her frostbitten hand. "And it _wasn't enough._ We drew all the mana we could, used our strongest spells, even drew magic directly from the Blind Eternities themselves via our Sparks...and we _still_ got our asses handed to us." She took a deep breath, calming herself before she punched something. "And I have no _fucking idea_ where anyone else would've 'walked." _Or if Bolas_ _let_ _them leave alive._

Grimoire, to his credit, was silent for a long moment before he next spoke. "...So, that's how you lost your arm."

Maera grunted and ran her hand through her hair. "I basically got one of the spells I threw at him countered, modified, and then thrown back at me." Her stump twinged at the memory, a vestige from the pain following her arm's literal explosion. "Wouldn't be surprised if that's what knotted up my mana lines."

"Do you know anyone who may be able to help un-knot it?"

Maera nodded. "I think so, anyway." She said. "Either Bels or Emily. Most likely Emily. She's a healer, and Bels is...well, have you ever heard of an astralmancer?"

"No...what is it?"

"An astralmancer is someone who can... _see_ magic." Maera explained. "They're a type of mage that was super rare, even _before_ the Mending." She held up a hand to stop the inevitable question. "Err... _that_ is a story for another day. Mostly because that's how long it'll take to explain all the weird shit that happened back then." _And my own adventures with time travel..._ "Anyway...they pop up less often than someone goes sparky, which is why in a lot of circles the consensus is that astralmancers are _hypothetical._ They exist on paper, sure, but they just don't happen in real life."

Grimoire rolled his eyes and fidgeted with the buttons on the cuff of his sleeve. "If there's one thing I've learned from being a Planeswalker, it's that _nothing_ is impossible."

"Damn straight. It's hilarious whenever someone figures out that yes, Bels is an astralmancer and yes, _they do fucking exist._ " Maera snickered. "Remind me sometime to tell you the story of this one self-important pretty-boy on Esper... _ohhh_ , the look on his face when he saw the boot heading for his face."

Grim's eyebrow went skyward once again. "You're never bored, are you?"

Maera snorted a laugh. "Nope. It's more fun to be an asshole. Especially to those who _deserve_ it." She opened an eye and held up a finger. "I'm an equal-opportunity jackass; you be an ass to me, and I'll be one right back."

"Again I say it; you are broken."

"I know it. And I fucking _love it._ "

" _Oh, Grim, why do you always attract the crazy ones..."_

"I don't attract the crazy ones." Grimoire griped. "Nasala at least isn't a lunatic."

" _That could be debated."_

Maera's brow furrowed. "Who's Nasala?"

"A friend of mine." The vedalken replied. "She's usually aboard _Sleipnir_ with me, along with a few others."

"How many, usually?" Maera nodded to the hatch leading to the rest of the ship. "This place _does_ seem a bit big for only one person. Still small, but not _that_ small."

"Four or five, usually. Including me." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Myself, Nasala, X'vir, and Ganneth. Sometimes Tone tags along too."

"Sounds like it gets crowded."

Grim shrugged. "It's usually not too bad. But then, I've been living primarily on _Sleipnir_ for so long, I'm probably used to it by now."

"You never told me about that. How long _have_ you had him, anyway?"

" _Aww, you're not calling me an 'it' anymore."_

"That's because most inanimate objects can't talk back when you gas up the head."

" _Just because I don't have a biological nose does_ _not_ _mean I can't tell when something stinks. For the love of the Eternities, what the hell did you_ _eat_ _?!"_

"The same thing Grim's been, and I can tell you that I'm missing mac-n-cheese because of it." She returned her attention to Grimoire. "You said you inherited him from your parents, but...not more than that."

Grim shrugged. "What's more to tell? My parents...passed, and part of what I inherited was _Sleipnir_."

" _Well, 'passed' isn't exactly the word I would use..."_

Grimoire's eyes hardened. "Shut up."

Maera, however, caught on to the change of expression, however slight. "Something bad happen to them?"

He didn't reply right away. He fiddled with something on the console, averting his eyes. Maera saw the tension in his shoulders. "...yes. I don't like to talk about it."

" _I can attest to that."_

"Quiet, you."

" _Nyeh."_

Maera cocked a brow. "Your ship is immature."

"Oh, I know. Try _living with him._ "

" _I am_ _right here_ _."_

"Do I look like I care?"

Maera listened to the two bicker again before piping up. "Y'know, a friend of mine once said that sometimes it's good to talk about something you don't want to." She said. "Something about it being good therapy or something."

"You're not exactly a therapist."

"Call it self-therapy, then." Maera shrugged. "I don't need to listen if you don't want me to."

"...I still don't want to talk about it."

"Suit yourself." She got up and strode over to the coffee maker. Like the aether drive, a lot of the not-quite-essential systems were down. Such as the the food replicator. Grimoire had managed to get the ship off of emergency power, but some of the non-primary systems were still inoperable.

Like the replicator.

Maera sniffed at the coffee, then took a taste. She cringed; it was horrible. _I can't wait till we get to that spaceport. I miss good coffee. And tea._ "Then...what's all this 'Messiah' business? Who were those weirdos, and why were they so hell-bent on having me join their club?"

Grim blew out a breath. "You're going to need more coffee."

Maera put down her cup and took the pot out of the maker, striding over and promptly refilling the vedalken's mug. "Shoot. We've only got the better part of a week to kill."

Grim raised his mug to her in a salute as she replaced the pot and returned to her seat with her own mug. "They call themselves the Cult of the Bleeding Light. Yes, they actually _admit_ that they're a cult." He said, at Maera's disbelieving blink. "For the most part, they're a bunch of religious crazy people who yell about their 'mission' on street corners and unused comm frequencies." He explained, propping his feet up on the console. "They claim that they're on a mission from their god, to unite all of Etrides with Eternity, so they can 'take their message beyond the stars'." He peered at her out of the corner of an eye. "Their words, not mine."

"I gathered." Maera sipped at her coffee, frowning. "But that sounds _way_ too much like breaking through to the _Blind_ Eternities to me."

"That's because it probably is." Grim replied with a sigh. "And, well, until recently they weren't taken seriously—not that it wasn't hard to crack jokes about them. It's a little hard to put much stock in a grown man yelling at the top of his lungs and waving his arms around like he's having a fit."

" _Don't forget the stupid hats. Or the makeup."_

"Please tell me those stupid hats aren't white hoods..."

" _Oh, no, not even close. They look like they've got wings growing out of them, only the wings have wings of their own...it's just easier if you see for yourself. They're_ _ridiculous_ _."_

"I'll take your word for it..." She looked back to Grim. "So, harmless. But annoying."

"Yes..."

"I smell a 'but' at the end of that."

"There is." He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Within last few years, though, they've had a new leader—the Progenitor's what they call him—at the head of their organization. One who's more...hands-on about their prophecy."

"Uh, prophecy?" Maera blinked at him. "And by 'hands-on' you mean 'yanking people out of FTL and threatening to kill them until they convert'."

Grim was taking a drink of coffee and nodded as he lowered his mug. "You could put it that way, yes."

"Well, I guess that explains _why_ Captain I-Need-Fashion-Help ambushed us. That still doesn't explain why he was calling me 'Messiah' and the prophecy you mentioned."

"Yeah...that." He rubbed the back of his neck. "It's something that their so-called 'god' predicted a couple thousand years ago, give or take." He leaned back in his chair, the seat groaning at the strain. "The story goes that someone appeared out of nowhere on a rogue planet somewhere near the Galactic Core. He claimed to be a god trapped in mortal form." He shrugged. "Kid of like you, only minus the bleeding out and with added lost marbles and raving."

"Thanks...I think."

"Anyway, he managed to amass a following. As with most cults, it started out with a few...weirdos—"

" _Oh just say it; crazy people."_

"—and grew over time. Along the way he claimed to be capable of seeing the future, and predicted that two thousand years after his arrival, Etrides would be visited by another like him. One who'd be bloodied, carrying a staff and an enchanted sword." He paused to take another drink of his coffee before continuing. "He started calling them the 'Messiah', who would be the one to lead the religion he'd started to—again, not my words—'unite Etrides with Eternity'...um, Maera? Are you all right?"

Maera had a white-knuckled grip on the handle of her coffee mug. "...Icefire." She said. "And...the staff..." she shook her head. _C'mon. Mages are kind of a thing on this plane, at least from what you've seen so far. You're rooming with one right now for heaven's sake. No way you're the only one running around with a mage staff and magical weaponry._ Still, the whole "uniting with Eternity" part didn't sit well with her, especially given how Captain Fashion-Challenged had spoken. And the whole 'god' business... "Grim...I have a question. A couple, actually."

"Shoot."

"First question...what's the likelihood that this crazy person is a Planeswalker?"

Grim chewed on the question for a moment before replying. "...Not unlikely. I've been around the Multiverse, and I've run into several cases where, on separate planes, there were planesbound people worshipping the same person as gods. And a couple cases of those Planeswalkers-turned-gods encouraging it." He nodded to her. "I think your Nicol Bolas falls into the latter category."

Maera snorted. "Well, he _did_ remodel an _entire plane_ to fuel his oversized ego." She said. "But..." she shook her head. "You said that was _two thousand years ago?"_

"Around there, yes. Why?"

Maera put down her mug and bit her thumbnail. "That's...a long time ago. A _way_ long time ago."

"Really? I'd never noticed."

Maera shot him a glare. "Not my point." She waved her hand as if she was shooing a thought away. "See, about...sixty-ish years ago there was this thing called the Mending. Up till then, Planeswalkers pretty much _were_ gods. We were immortal, could change our bodies at will, build and destroy whole planes as easily as farting."

"...You never run out of charming images, do you?"

Maera stuck her tongue out at him. "Long story short, Planeswalkers could do _anything_. We were nigh invincible." She put her hand behind her head and leaned back, crossing her legs. "And then the Mending happened. The name is pretty self-explanatory; a bunch of old, pre-Mending Planeswalkers who'd been around a while and actually gave a shit about the Multiverse literally _mended_ rips in reality that were opening into the Blind Eternities, to keep said Multiverse from falling apart."

Grimoire let out a low whistle. "Sounds like we missed out."

"Eh." Maera shrugged. "Personally, I'm happy being as I am. Don't need the power of a god." She shrugged. "Anyway, apart from sealing the rifts, the Mending did something else; it changed the nature of the Spark _entirely_. It knocked Planeswalkers off their pedestals as gods, and any pre-Mending 'walkers went back to being, well...mortal. Not gods anymore. It made the Planeswalker Spark far more rare, making a successful ignition a literal one-in-a-billion chance. And any new 'walkers who sparked out wouldn't have known the godlike abilities that were around before the Mending."

Again, the low whistle. "How much research did you have to do to learn all that?"

"Well..." Maera fiddled with a lock of her hair sheepishly, figuring out the best way to put it. "I was...kind of there. And a few of my friends were around for a few centuries too so...yeah."

Silence. Apart from the ever-present engine rumble, there was complete and utter silence in the compartment. Finally, Grimoire broke it. "You...what?"

Maera felt her ears start to pinken. "Okay, first, I was born _after_ the Mending. Time travel was involved." She said. "So, technically, I've never been involved. Nor do I _want_ to be a god; that would be one very, _very_ bad joke."

" _Not as bad a joke as Grim's underwear drawer."_

"Shut up, Sleipnir. Or I'll pour hot sauce down your intake valves again."

" _You wouldn't."_

"I would and you know it."

" _You are twelve."_

"And you're two."

Maera whistled at the two. "Next question incoming." She pinned Grim with a look and picked her mug back up. "How do _you_ know about this pre-Mending wacko future-predictor's prophecy?"

Grim played with the handle of his coffee mug, then carefully put it down. He sighed heavily through his nose. "That's...complicated."

" _You can say that again."_

"Complicated how?" Maera's eyes narrowed. "Grimoire...what sort of connection do you have with those guys?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. "A weird one." He groaned. "One that gives me a headache."

" _And before you ask, there's no ex-zealotry involved."_

Maera grunted. "Good to know." She drained her mug before fully facing the vedalken, her elbow resting on her nee. "What's happening on this plane? What's the deal with this cult yanking people out of FTL? And the Inquisitorium? And with you too, while we're at it."

Grim rubbed his face with his hands. He swung his feet back down to the deck and turned his seat to face her, mirroring Maera's posture. "All right. Sleipnir?"

" _Yes?"_

"Keep quiet while I explain things. Everything." Grim said. "Just let me know if we run into anything unwanted."

" _It's space. There's a_ _lot_ _of unwanted things out here."_

"You know what I mean."

" _Aye aye, Boss."_

Maera raised an eyebrow at the sudden change in the ship's AI, but didn't comment. Instead she motioned for Grimoire to continue.

"The Inquisitorium...they're the galaxy's big, nasty secret. They've got their hands in virtually every government, pulling strings behind the scenes to only the Eternities knows what ends—though they _claim_ it's to 'preserve civilization'. Not many people even know they exist, and the few who do either work for them...or are dead."

"So how d'you know about them, then?"

Grim fidgeted. "I...was one of the former." He replied. "Several years ago. I left."

Maera's mouth tightened. "I thought you said the people who knew about the Inquistorium were dead if they weren't part of the club."

"I'm an...outlier." He shrugged. "Being a Planeswalker has its benefits. If I see them closing in, I leave. Then come back in a few days—"

" _Or weeks."_

"—or weeks later, when the heat's died down." He finished, shooting a glare at the ceiling.

Maera studied him. "You always come back though." She stated. "It'd just be easier to bail. Just set up on another plane and start over."

"I know."

"Must be something damned important to keep you coming back. Otherwise you wouldn't be here."

A pause. "Etrides is my home. I care about it."

"It's more than that." Maera was fiddling with her hair again. "Something deeper than just caring about your home plane." She paused. "Which, I can get myself. Terrestiel's got a lot of problems, but I still like it enough to not fuck off altogether." _Though for the life of me I still can't figure out why._

Grim responded with a half-amused, half-sour snort. "It's a stupid reason."

"Can't be all that stupid to you."

He knitted his hands together, knuckles whitening. "...They had my parents killed. I've been trying to pull them down for years."

 _So it's a grudge. He wants revenge._ Maera thought. _Oldest motivator in the book._ "What made them kill your parents, then? They some powerful politicos who wouldn't bow to the Inquisitorium's blackmail or something?"

Grim shook his head. "They'd been a part of it. Before I was born, they defected." He replied. "The Inquisitorium...you don't just _leave_. It's not an option." He wiped a hand down his face. "Once you join, it's a lifetime job. You're either there until you die, or..."

He didn't need to finish; Maera did so for him. "Or you're killed on the way out."

"Exactly."

The picture was coming together for the half-fae. "So when your parents defected, assassins were sent out for them."

Grimoire nodded. "They spent about a decade or so running around the galaxy, putting as much physical, atheric, and digital distance between themselves and the Inquisitorium as they could. By the time I came along, they'd covered their tracks and disappeared into the ether—pun _not_ intended—and settled down on Novax III, where I grew up." A small, wistful smile spread over his face. "It was a favorite place for smugglers to set up for a while and either rest up after a run, get ships repaired, sell their load on the black market, or just hide out for a while from the authorities."

"Sounds like kind of a, um... _interesting_ place to raise a kid."

Grim shrugged. "It's not as bad is it sounds, honestly. For the most part, the only lawbreakers that hung around were smugglers, pirates, and the odd corrupt admiral or consulat." He looked out the viewscreen, face wistful. "And for the most part, they've got a pretty strong sense of honor. Keep to yourself, don't stir up trouble, and if _anyone_ finds out that you're trading in slaves, kids, murder, well..." he shrugged. "Let's just say you'd better hurry up and find a new home port."

"How'd your parents get found out?"

He didn't reply right away. His expression shifted too, from wistful to...sad. "Looking back, I'd bet a million creds the Inquisitorium knew where they were all along." He said, still looking out at space. "Probably just let my dads think they'd managed to hide themselves away, long enough to let hem raise their kid at least. No idea why." His shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh, and he closed his eyes and looked away from the view. "But...he'd taken up there, claiming to be a information broker. Said he was going to be hiding out there for a while, until heat from the Union died down. Thought he was a decent, stand-up guy—well, barring the blackmail, anyway."

"Until he turned out to be an assassin for the Inquisitorium."

"Yes." Grim sat back again and ran a hand through his hair, eyes still closed. "Well, the broker part was true; he really did sell information, just not as an independent."

Maera's mouth twisted. "I've dealt with a few of _those_ people. Sounds like he'd be perfect on Fiora."

Grim grunted. "Anyway. The information broking was only half of his deal. The other half was being an Inquisitorium-employed agent. I don't know if being an assassin was part of his job description or not, but he was good enough at it to kill my parents."

"Why didn't they go for you, too?"

"They did." Grim shook his head. "I got lucky. Wasn't home when Dad and Pa were killed; I walked in on the cleanup." He opened his eyes, mouth twisting sourly at the memory. "Thought I'd faint. Didn't get a chance before the new neighbor shot me in the chest."

"And your Spark ignited."

He nodded. "I felt the bolt go clean through, and thought the only reason my brain was still functioning was because the message from my heart that it'd stopped hadn't reached it yet." He rubbed a spot on his chest, where Maera suspected the blaster bolt must've hit. "But instead of going cold, everything _burned_ instead. And then I was falling, but instead of hitting the ground I fell _through_ the world, through something that wasn't space—the Blind Eternities—and landed flat on my back in a tree. And then _out_ of the tree, onto a giant effing anthill."

Despite herself, Maera started laughing. She put her hand over her mouth to muffle the snorting mirth, shoulders shaking with laughing. Grim gave her a deadpan scowl. "What's so damn funny?"

Maera held out her hand, finger raised, mouth clamped securely shut as she waited for the giggles to pass. "You—you sparked out, crashed into a tree...and then _fell flat on your ass right on top of an anthill!"_

Once again she dissolved into giggles, quickly devolving into full-on guffaws, all while Grimoire gave her an eye-twitching glower. "Do you _always_ get laughs out of other people's misery?"

It took several minutes before Maera had recovered enough to be coherent. "Y-yes. Especially when it's something like _that._ " She gigglesnorted again, grinning. "Of all the crazy, unlucky, _embarrassing_ things I've heard for first Planeswalks, this is the _first_ time I've heard of someone ending up with _ants in their pants!"_

Grimoire let out a noisy sigh and shook his head before picking his coffee mug back up, and nodded to her. "Well, I've told my Spark story. Only fair that you tell me yours."

Maera sat back in her chair, leaning back with a sigh. "If you promise to tell me how you ended up back in the organization your parents fucked out of."

"Deal."

Maera nodded, stretched, and propped her boots up on a part of the console in front of her that wasn't covered in data slates, bits of paper, or her coffee mug. "It didn't involve getting shot in the chest. Just my own stupidity."

Grim raised an eyebrow. "Really? What did you do, get yourself stuck on a cliffside?"

Maera snorted. "No. I was defending my friends, and in the way I do best; like a crazy-ass motherfucker."

"What did you blow up?"

Maera gaped at him. "I never said I blew anything up!"

"Whenever the term 'crazy-ass motherfucker' is involved, something _always_ blows up." He took a sip of his coffee, then made a face when he found it was cold. "So. What did you blow up?"

Maera scratched a spot on her chin. "...I might have made a crater. Where a lab was."

Grim was getting up to refill his mug when he froze. " _What."_

"Hey, I said it involved me being an idiot!"

"You blew up a lab and left a _crater."_

"In my defense, the lab belonged to a mad-scientist assface who's creepy as hell, so no big loss."

" _There could have been people in there!"_

"It'd been evacuated, okay?!"

The vedalken rolled his eyes. "Why do I always find the crazy ones?"

" _Because you're addicted to insanity and haven't admitted it yet."_

"Shut up. I didn't ask you."

" _Then why did you ask in the first place?"_

Grimoire only growled and shot a middle finger at the ceiling before striding over to the coffee maker. "I'm probably going to regret this, but how did you turn a mad scientist's lab into a crater?"

"I already told you; I was defending my friends." She cracked her neck, earning herself an alarmed look from the vedalken. "Don't worry, that's normal."

" _Nothing_ about you has been normal so far."

"Okay, normal for me." Maera leaned back in her chair. "Basically, I was casting spells that were _way_ beyond what I should've been using. I was drawing more mana than I could control at the time and throwing it around to help cover our allies' retreat."

"That doesn't sound very wise."

"It isn't. It's why I said I was being stupid." She replied. "There's this habit I've had for almost as long as I've been a mage; I'll feel out where my spellcasting limits are, and I'll dance around that edge in a fight. It's both why I'm so damned strong and why I tend to scare the piss out of people who aren't used to me." She paused. "For that matter, it scares the piss out of some people who are used to me..."

Grim sat back in his seat and pinned her with a _look_. A look that said 'you are fucking insane'. "Oh, I can't _possibly_ imagine why."

Maera tossed a wadded-up ball of paper (she'd been _trying_ to fold an origami frog, but had given up when doing it one- and off-handed had proven too frustrating and she's crumpled it into a ball instead) at him. He deflected it with the coffee mug. "Anyway, my point is I know where my limit was." She picked her mug up and fiddled with the handle. "And, well...the people we'd been fighting were a bunch of maniacs being led by an even bigger maniac who wanted to first destroy the world, only to recreate it again so that nobody ever died."

"You sure this guy's been to Etrides?"

Maera barked a laugh. "No, doubt it. He's planesbound. Or was; his crazy plan kind of ended when he got his ass killed by a couple of the friends I mentioned who were fighting him in the first place." She gave a small shrug. "Happy ending, I guess. Anyway, his followers were, well...they were zealots. They saw him as a god, which fit the god complex he had. And as long as their boss achieved his plan, they didn't care if they got killed." She snorted. "Probably thought he'd bring them back from the dead when he remade everything."

"As a general rule of thumb, people like that aren't usually acting out of altruism."

Maera shook her head. "No, he wasn't. He just wanted to be a _real_ god, rather than just acting the part of one." She went back to fiddling with her mug. "Anyway, because I knew my limit I knew I was crossing well past it. See, it's one thing to know the mechanics of spells beyond your skill, and it's another thing entirely to actually be casting it. It's something I make myself keep in mind when I go poking around arcane libraries."

"I can think of a few people who could learn a few lessons like that."

"Yeah, well, blasting a crater into the ground and throwing yourself into the Blind Eternities is a _really_ good way to learn said lesson." Maera snarked. "Sooo I was well aware of how dangerous my spellcasting and mana-throwing-around was, but goddamn it these were my _friends_ they were trying to kill. There were _kids_ we were protecting, and if you think I'm not going to put myself between them and nihilistic psychos then you're out of your cotton-pickin' _mind_." Her eyebrows dove down into a deep scowl. "I was not going to let them pass. Even if I turned myself into a living magical bomb in the process."

Grimoire was studying her, but didn't pipe up, so Maera continued. "Finally, push came to shove and I drove myself too far past my limits, and...well, something had to break and it was either me or my Spark."

 _"Dammit Hellion! What the hell d'you think you're doing?!"_

 _"Getting these kids_ _outta here!_ _"_

 _"You're drawing too much mana! I can feel you from where_ _I_ _am! Stop it or you'll blow yourself up!"_

 _"It's either_ _that_ _or let these jackasses get through, and ain't_ _no_ _way in_ _HELL_ _I'm letting that happen!"_

"It was my Spark. Long story short, I ended up and Ravnica and another poor Planeswalker ended up being my landing pad. I don't think he's going to _ever_ let me forget that, either."

Grimoire didn't speak right away. Instead, he remained silent as he let the story sink in. Finally, when he did speak, he was a straightforward and deadpan as the rest of his comments."

"Suddenly, I'm not so sure you should be allowed _anywhere_ near _anything_ explosive."

Maera laughed. "Too late. Things tend to blow up when I get pissed, and I very rarely need help from explosives." She replied. "Remind me to tell you the napalm story sometime."

"What the hell is the napalm story?"

Maera grinned as she swung her feet down to the deck and stood to get a fresh mug of coffee. "Let's just say that it involved napalm, dragon manure, and fire. And a catapult."

"...you've _got_ to be joking."

"Nope."

Behind her, she heard a pained groan. " _No_. Just...no. You are _not right_."

The grin was still on her face as she poured her cup. "Bro, if you've only just _now_ realized this, you really don't know me that well."

"I'm starting to think that I don't _want_ to know you that well." He was shaking his head as she turned back to him, leaning against the wall. "If you ever have kids, I worry for the Multiverse." Maera's grin widened. Grim blinked, then hung his head with another pained, pitiful groan. " _Why_. Why are you real."

She shrugged. "Blame my parents. They're the ones who had sex."

He made a sound somewhere between a gag and a retch. Maera almost had to put her mug down, or she'd spill coffee. "Ah, don't worry. You're taking my special brand of crazy better than most."

"Thanks, I think"

 _"I'm not sure which of you I should worry about more. The crazy woman who blows things up, or Grim for that sound he just made. I think something died in you, boss."_

Grimoire kicked the console. "You're not helping."

 _"You're just ungrateful."_

"Ungrateful my backside. You're annoying."

 _"It's a talent of mine."_

Grim made a frustrated noise and rolled his eyes. Something pinged. "What the—?"

 _"We're being hailed."_

"I know that. _Who's_ hailing us?"

 _"Looks like it's Ganneth's comm signal. Oh, hello."_

"What?"

 _"There's a ship ahead, must've just dropped out of FTL. Their engines are still not."_ Sleipnir answered. _"Aaand that's where Ganneth's signal's coming from. Looks like they've just come from Saiyani, if I'm reading their direction right."_

Maera could see the tension drop out of Grim's shoulders. "Patch him through." He turned to Maera. "You're about to meet quite possibly the crudest person around."

Maera blinked at him. "You know Bels?"

Again, the deadpan stare. "What."

"Bels, if I may say, is the queen of the freaking sewer. Take a game of Cards Against Humanity—it's a game on Terrestiel, thought up by some dirty-minded Mundanes with a twisted and hilarious sense of humor—and put it into human form and you have Belinda Scale. She's not exactly shy on profanity and doesn't even know what a clean joke is."

Grimoire snorted. "Oh, you haven't met Ganneth." Maera sat in the other seat and crossed her legs. "Grimoire here. Ganneth, what're you doing out this far? We're still four days away."

 _"I came t' give ye a lift. Yer not goin' like the news I got fer ya."_

Grim's brow creased in a frown. "What's that?"

 _"Honestly, it's somethin' I'd rather tell ye in person. Don' want t' risk th' connection bein' hacked."_

"And you call _me_ paranoid."

 _"Just shut up n' git in the shuttle bay. Yer pain in the ass ship oughta fit."_

 _"I take offense to that!"_

 _"Yeah, yeah, shut up ya ol' tin can. Just git her butt in here so I kin explain what's goin' on. Grim, I hope ya have a high bullshit meter."_

 _ **-XXX-**_

 **Zachar** steepled his fingers, processing what Ganneth had just told him. The minotaur was sitting across from him in the mess, waiting for the reply. His perpetually-scowling face didn't betray much—other than the usual mild irritation—but his hands, worrying at the empty coffee mug, revealed his concern. "Well? What've ye gottern yerself inta?"

Zachar shook his head. "Too much is happening at once," he said, massaging his tattooed temple. He swore he felt the implant in it itching, but it'd been rendered inactive years ago. "If this is all a coincidence, I'll eat my coat."

"Yeah, I said th' same thing. Though I mighta used some differn't wording..."

Zachar gave the minotaur his best long-suffering look. "You probably told him to go do something anatomically impossible with his FTL drive."

"I'd say yer wrong, but..."

Zachar rolled his eyes. "You're a child."

"Meh. Bein' an adult's overrated anyway."

The vedalken rubbed his eyes, exasperated. And stressed. "First the Bleeders are going crazy over their 'prophecy', and now the Inquisitorium's put a price on both mine _and_ Maera's heads."

"Kinda makes me glad I ain't one o' you _planeswalkers._ Y'all attract too much trouble."

"Ganneth, I feel the need to point out that you don't need to attract trouble. You go _looking_ for it."

"I get bored easy."

Zachar groaned. "My god. You're as bad as she is."

"Hey, I ain't ashamed of it. So what if some slave trader _happens_ to be in th' same system, n' I _happen_ to owe 'im a few _'favors'_..."

Zachar held up a hand. "Stop. Right there. I just got over the ulcer _that_ one caused." He pointed at Ganneth. "I may be a technomage, but I don't like to make a habit out of _erasing official records_ to save your idiot ass."

"Hey, if it ain't on paper, it didn' happen. Least, s'far's the law's concerned."

Zachar groaned again. "One of these days, you'll get your balls caught in a legal vice, and I will _not_ bail you out. I go off-plane and let you sort out your own mess for a change."

"Yeah, yeah. Ya said that th' last time too, and ye still bailed me out in th' end."

Zachar put his chin in his hand. "Yeah. Right." He played with the handle of his mug, ignoring the

gone-cold coffee inside. "How large is the bounty?"

"Quarter million creds, each. How many laws did ya break to get that landed on ya?"

Zachar let out a heavy breath. "None, to my knowledge." His eyes narrowed, gaze on the table. "Damn it all...I should've 'walked right away. Saved us all the trouble."

"Ya think she'd've been able to go with ye?"

Again, Zachar rubbed his temple. He made a motion halfway between a shrug and a headshake. "I have no idea."

Ganneth sat back in his chair and hummed, crossing his arms. And ye scold _me_ about gettin' mah ass stuck in a bind."

"Shut up. I didn't try to tie a pirate in a knot and then replace the antimatter in his tank with green gelatin."

Ganneth grinned. Zachar sighed and facepalmed. "So. That's why you're doing this pickup." The minotaur nodded. "Thanks for the warning, in any case."

"What're ye gonna do?"

"Lie low. Hope they can stay away until I figure something out."

"Ya mind if I point somethin' out?"

"Go ahead."

"Ye shoud never've tried takin' down the Inquisitorium in th' first place." Ganneth's face was serious.

"Woulda been smarter just t' stay in n' do what ye could for us folks rather than fuck outta there. They wouldn't be lookin' fer ye if ya had." He paused. "Hell, woulda been even _smarter_ not t've gotten mixed up in 'em in th' first place."

Zachar rubbed his eyes. "I know that _now_." He said. "And before you say it, I was young and stupid." Even to his own ears it sounded like a weak excuse. _Of course, it's not like I had many other choices, really...at least, none that I could see at the time._

"What're ye thinkin'?"

Zachar looked up at the minotaur. "Trying to figure out who I should hack first."

Ganneth raised an eyebrow. "Yer not serious."

"It's the best way to figure out what's got the Inquisitorium so stirred up."

"It's also a great way t' let them know where ya are."

Zachar gave him a sardonic smile. "You _do_ remember who you're talking to, right?"

"Oh boy," Ganneth rolled his eyes to the overhead and shook his head. "Cyros forgive me, yer gonna go stickin' yer nose inta this mess."

"Damn right I am. If I'm going to have both the Inquisitorium _and_ the Bleeders on my tail, I want to know _why_."

"Ye'll get killed. Ye and yer new friend."

Zachar raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Ganneth, you _know_ what I can do if they _do_ try it."

Ganneth sighed, but nodded. "That don' mean it's any less dangerous."

"It's been dangerous ever since my parents were assassinated. It's only gotten more so since...well."

The minotaur sighed again and wiped a hand down his face. "I kin see I ain't gon' be able to talk ya outta this." he said, rising. "Jus' be careful, kid. Yer kickin' a bee's nest. Yer gonna get stung."

Zachar grunted. "I know."

Ganneth studied him for several moments, before he responded.

"I'm serious. Be careful, Zach."

* * *

 **Ahh, nothing like a nice cool-down before the next round of troubles begin. Just like last chapter, this bugger's the longest yet-anybody else noticing a trend here?**

 **Anyway, to quote a fellow fanfic author (and Bleach fan), reviews desired but not required. I don't hold my fics hostage for reviews, but they still feel nice to read ^^.**

 **~Hikari Hellspawn**


	5. Space Nerd Phone Home

**Apologies for the extended delay in getting this chapter uploaded; I got sidetracked by a few IRL things, including Camp NaNoWriMo. I should be back on the update-pattern wagon now though, so barring anything violent happening these chapters should be coming out again every other week.**

 **Thanks this week go to Lyran, for favoriting and following both me _and_ Birthright. Thanks for the follows and favs!**

 **Shout out to my friend both IRL and here GamerDragon13! One of her fan 'walkers, Belinda Scale, makes a cameo in this chapter! In all her sleep-deprived, foul-mouthed glory X'D**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Magic: The Gathering. If I did, I'd be a helluva lot richer and while I still would've written this, the plane of Etrides and the fanwalkers Maera and Zachar would be canon.**

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

 **Space Nerd Phone Home**

" **Feeling** better, dearie?"

Maera flexed her hand and nodded. "Yeah, thanks." She told the aetherborn. "Mostly back to normal, anyway."

Tone sighed. "I really do wish I could do something to fix the other arm, but sadly even I'm not _that_ good." They leaned back. "What did you even _do_ to cause _that_?"

Maera rubbed the back of her neck. She was getting sick of being asked that. "...pissed off an elder dragon."

They blinked. "...Seriously?"

"Yeah."

Tone cocked their head. "Wow. You _really_ don't do things halfway, do you?"

Maera snorted. "I don't think the term 'halfway' is in my vocabulary."

"I can tell."

Maera stuck her tongue out at them. "I'm serious though. Thanks."

Tone shrugged. "No trouble. I try to make a habit out of being a decent person. Better payoff."

Maera's mouth quirked up at the corner. "I can think of a few people who could stand to take that particular class."

"I can sympathize." Tone crossed their legs. "Anyway, barring the missing arm, you should be good as new." They paused, and despite a mouth Maera felt them frowning. "However..."

Maera paused in pulling her jacket back on. The change in tone (pun _not_ intended) wasn't lost on her. "What?"

Tone hummed, rubbing their chin. "Your magic. It's all...knotted up." They shrugged. "I'm not sure how best to describe it, honestly. It didn't feel at all right to me while I was healing you. Almost like something had caused your body to _forget_ how to use magic."

Maera's gut twisted as they spoke. She didn't like that prospect, at all. Once again she felt the frustration return, and she told herself _not_ to take it out on the one who'd just healed her frostbitten limb. And back. And shoulders. "...Probably explains why I can't draw mana."

Tone made an affirmative sound. "And fouls up any spells you try casting using what you've got in your internal stores." They nodded to her left—and remaining—arm. "And that frostbite is probably the best-case scenario you could've gotten off with."

Maera blinked at them. "You're joking."

"Sorry, but I'm not."

She gave them a slow blink. " _What."_

"You got off easy, hon. What you did, forcing that spell, could've gone a _lot_ worse. If I were you, I'd try to figure out what's wrong with your mana lines before any more spellcasting."

Maera shrugged the jacket back on and sat back, running her hand through her hair. "Well. Scheiẞ."

" _Aw fuck_ _no!_ _NOPE! NO WAY! Ain't no way yer stickin' anythin' inta me!"_

Maera turned to the source of the yelling. Tone groaned. "Here we go again..."

Maera raised her eyebrows at them. "This always happen?"

"Ganneth's afraid of needles."

" _I ain't afraid o' hospitals! I just hate gettin' poked n' prodded!"_

Tone gave her a deadpan look. "He's also in denial."

" _I ain't in denial, ya skinny little—"_

" _Finish that sentence and I'll cold-cock your hooved arse!"_

" _I ain't gettin' any shots!"_

The minotaur entered and planted himself in the doorway, arms crossed and brows set in a deep scowl. "No. Way. In. _Hell."_

Tone made a frustrated sound and stood. "The hell you aren't." They crossed their arms, mirroring Ganneth's posture. "You remember _last_ year? When you caught the elven flu?"

"It wasn't _that_ bad."

"You literally crapped a hole through the seat of your pants."

"I did not!"

"Would you like me to look up the holos? I remember X'vir took a few..."

Ganneth's glower deepened (Maera was surprised it was possible), then looked away, grumbling. Tone puffed up their chest in triumph. "I thought so."

"'At's blackmail. Cocky bastard."

"Damn right it is." They jerked their thumb to an empty chair. "Now sit down, shut up, and pull up your sleeve."

"I told you, I _ain't—_ "

Maera leaned forward, clearing her throat. "Mind if I butt in?" She asked, holding up a finger. "Speaking as one who's had a couple bouts with the elven flu herself."

Ganneth turned his scowl to her. "What?"

"Just get the bloody shot. Avoiding a poke ain't worth the spewing from both ends."

Ganneth's eye twitched, and Maera swore she saw his face go from red to green. "...I think I just threw up a little in my mouth."

"If I had a stomach, I'd be sick to it."

She raised her eyebrow. "Well, it's either that or I'll sit on you."

Ganneth blinked at her, then looked to Tone. The aetherborn just shrugged and said, "If it'll get you to sit down for long enough, I'll let her."

The minotaur looked between the two of them, before sitting down in a vacant seat. Grumbling. "Fine. Just get it over with."

Maera rose. "I'll get out of your way, just in case he decides to run for it."

Tone waved a hand. "I'll be fine. You track down Grim; I've still got to get _him_ in here, too."

"I'll let him know." Maera left, grabbing her messenger bag as she went. It'd been almost a week since the lift to Saiyani Spaceport, and for the half-faerie 'walker it had been one week-long geek fest.

Now, well...she was still geeking out, but it was less squeeing about being on an _actual space station_ that was orbiting a _gas giant_ , and more of a low-key background geek-out. _If only I'd come under different circumstances. I'd probably enjoy sightseeing a lot more._

"Maera!"

She paused and looked behind her. It was Grim...and he had her phone. She let him catch up before continuing walking. "You fixed it?"

"Yes." He handed her the phone, and Maera turned it on. Sure enough, it powered up normally. Then she hugged him. "Um, what?"

"Thank you!" She gave the taller man a squeeze before letting him go, and he stood there blinking in bewilderment for a moment.

"...It's a phone. A simple thank you would have sufficed."

"It's also a lifeline right now," Maera replied as she unlocked the screen. "I can _finally_ see if anyone knows what happened to the others."

"You know someone on Etrides?"

Maera shook her head. "No...this is the first time I've been to this plane."

"Then...how can you—oh. Not a chance." He pointed to her phone with an incredulous look. " _That_ antique?!"

"It's _not_ an antique!"

"Maybe not where you're from."

Maera stuck her tongue out and scrolled through her contacts. "I'm friends with a few fellow Planeswalkers, one of which is from the same plane as I am. A few years ago I got the idea to see if it was possible to modify my cell phone to be able to call people on other planes." She explained, then shrugged sheepishly at the expression the vedalken was giving her. "It was an experiment, and honestly it doesn't always work. And, well, it'll only work if _they've_ had their phone modified in the same way..."

Grimoire shook his head. "That doesn't sound possible..."

"It normally, ah...isn't." Maera bit the inside of her lip. "And I'm pretty sure I broke a few magical laws anyway."

"And you an artificer or something?"

"Yes, actually." She peered at him out of the corner of her eye. "Oi, don't give me that look."

"I'm not giving you any look."

"Yes, you are. You're giving me the look of 'I'm going to have nightmares about this now'."

"Probably because it's more than a little disturbing. _You._ An _artificer._ You _do_ realize how terrifying a combination that is, right?"

"I'm well aware." She hit the dial button and put the phone to her ear. "Now shush. I'm calling Bels."

Grimoire held up his hands in surrender, but was thankfully silent as the phone rang. Maera was starting to think it'd go to voicemail when Belinda Scale picked up. " _The fuck're you doing? It's five in the fucking morning!"_

"Hello to you too, Bels." Maera deadpanned. "Good to know you're so concerned for my well-being."

" _I'd be a hell of a lot more concerned if you hadn't woken me up! Why'd you call me? What did you blow up?"_

Maera let out a frustrated breath and threw her head back. " _Why_ does _everybody_ assume I blew something up?!"

" _Because it's_ _you_ _. You're like what happens when you throw the Cult of Rakdos and the Izzet League in a blender and hit the on button, only with added immaturity."_

"I feel so much better now, thanks."

" _Yeah, yeah. You still haven't told me why the hell you woke me up."_

Maera raised an eyebrow as she heard someone else—someone male—mumble something unintelligible on Belinda's end. "Something's telling me you were doing something _other_ than sleeping."

" _That was earlier!"_

Maera laughed. "Right. Anyway, um." She looked around, even though she didn't have the phone on speaker and knew anyone wouldn't hear the other half of the conversation, but still. "Uhhh...how's things on Ravnica?"

" _Maera!"_

"All right! All right!" She cringed, bracing herself for the chewing out that was to come. "The Amonkhet thing kinda...sorta...maayyyyybe went to shit."

" _...You punched Bolas in the face again, didn't you?"_

"No I didn't!"

" _Bullshit!"_

"I'm serious!"

" _I still say bullshit! The fuck did you guys do, throw rotten tomatoes at him?!"_

Maera glared, wishing she could send the expression through her phone. Instead, she dripped sarcasm. "Throwing rotten tomatoes probably would've been more effective."

" _He fucked all you guys up, didn't he?"_

"Pretty much, yep."

" _You didn't even go in with a plan at all, did you?"_

"We had a plan!"

" _What was it?"_

"...Kill Bolas."

Silence. Utter silence. The silence on the other end of the phone was so complete that Maera _swore_ she could actually _hear_ her friend blinking in incredulity."

" _You went to Amonkhet. To find Bolas."_

"Yeah."

" _And then you took him on. With no other plan than_ _kill the fucking dragon?!_ "

"In my defense, it was mostly Gideon. The _rest_ of us tried getting him to use his head first."

The ear-shattering silence returned, and Maera sensed that her friend was facepalming on her end.

Right before she blew her ear off.

" _You mean...you're telling me...that you went to Amonkhet, Nicol fucking Bolas's_ _fucking stronghold_ _, with no better plan than KILL THE FUCKING DRAGON?! ARE YOU A FUCKING IDIOT!?"_

"I wasn't the only one there!"

" _THEN YOU'RE ALL IDIOTS! Where's Jace? Where's Chandra? Where's_ _Gideon_ _?! I'm gonna THROTTLE HIS IDIOT THERAN—"_

Maera was holding the phone away from her ear, to spare her hearing the high-volume rant. Once she was certain her eardrums would be spared, she put the phone back and replied, "I...don't know where they are, actually."

Another pause. Then a sound reminiscent of a constipated moose came through the phone. Maera frowned. "Uh, Bels? ...You okay?"

" _Stupidity overload...stupidity overload...please wait while this idiot reboots..."_

Despite herself, Maera let out a snorting laugh. "You're taking this well."

" _Har har. 'Walk your ass back here so I can kick it. And then help me track down the rest of the Idiotwatch so I can kick their asses too."_

Maera felt her ears reddening. "Uhh...there's...kind of a small problem with that." She paused and bit her lip. "I...can't Planeswalk."

She heard a clatter. Welp. _Good job, me. You broke Bels so much she dropped her phone._ A second of scrambling later, and the sounds of " _The fuck did you just say?!_ " were sounding in ear.

"I can't Planeswalk, Bels. Or cast spells in general."

"At least not without halfway killing yourself." Grimoire muttered beside her.

Maera stuck her tongue out at him as Belinda groaned _again. "This isn't happening. This is_ _not_ _._ _Fucking_ _._ _Happening_ _. You did_ _not_ _just say you're stuck."_

Maera shrugged, cringing again. "I'd say I knew why, but I don't." She replied. "Best guess is when Bolas blew my arm off, he also fried something in my Spark that's fried my internal mana lines."

" _I'm sorry, but did I just hear you say_ _you lost an arm?!_ "

"Yes. Yes you did."

" _WHY. Why can't things go only_ _slightly_ _wrong, just once? Why is it that whenever things to wrong, it's_ _all of the fucking things?!_ "

"I would love to know, too. When you figure it out, please tell me."

Banging on the other end. Likely Belinda hitting her head against the headboard of hers and Karr's bed. " _Why did this have to happen when I'm fucking pregnant. Why."_ The woman grumbled something in draconic under her breath (Maera suspected several very unhappy and anatomically dubious things could go do with himself and/or the egg between his horns) before continuing. " _Okay. Okay. This isn't..._ _completely_ _fucked, though it's pretty damn fucked."_

"Blame Bolas."

" _Only because_ _everything_ _is his fault anyway. Or Urza's. Who's fucking dead."_ Another grumble. " _What plane are you on? I might be able to find someone there. Or send someone who knows where the place is."_

"Etrides. It's that space age plane I've been freaking out about wanting to visit."

Belinda laughed. " _Well, at least you wound up someplace fitting. Nerd."_

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

" _I say it because it's true."_

"Yeah, yeah."

" _Because I start trying to send people to rescue your ass, is there anything_ _else_ _I should know about? How many wasp nests have you thrown bricks at by now?"_

Maera cringed and exchanged a look with Grim, who only raised an eyebrow at her. "Uhh, two, but they kicked first and one was caused by a gone-around-the-bend-to-crazy-town pre-Mending 'walker, so that's not my fault because I didn't know that problem was there until it started shooting at us."

" _'Us'?"_

"A friend I've managed to make." Grimoire's mouth hung open as he gave her a horrified look. She smiled at him in return. "His name's Grimoire. Or, at least that's the one he goes by. He's vedalken." The vedalken in question facepalmed and groaned.

" _...Grimoire? Seriously?"_

"Shut up. I didn't pick it, it's the name he told me."

" _...I call bullshit, but okay."_

"Anyway, so, yeah. I can legitimately say this time it isn't my fault. So you can't yell at me over _this_ one."

" _Whatever, crater girl."_ Belinda snarked. " _Anyway, I'll start calling around, try and get a couple people to where you are and haul you out of whatever mess you've managed to stir up."_ Maera opened her mouth to protest. " _Inadvertently or_ _not_ _. And then I'm going back to sleep. And I swear to the gods that if you wake me up again I'll send Karr to drag your ass back here so I can kick it."_

Maera heard a muffled mumbling over the phone that she interpreted as Karr saying something to the effect of "Keep me out of it" into the pillows. Followed by a soft _fumph_ , likely Belinda swatting him with one of her pillows. "Any idea when I can expect help?"

" _Hopefully_ _sometime before whatever wasp nest you woke up decides to come haul ass on you. Now shut up so I can start making calls and hopefully get back to fucking_ _sleep_ _. Good night."_

"Right, seeya. And thanks." Belinda only grunted in reply before hanging up. "Well. She was in a great mood."

"I could hear her yelling _through the phone._ "

Maera shrugged. "Crazy shit happens a lot."

"I gathered."

"Also, the great god Murphy seems to be our best friend." She shook her head and dropped her phone into her cargo pants pocket. "So much shit hits the fan around us that it's become a routine."

Grimoire shook his head, sighing. "Who the hell is 'Murphy'?"

"Murphy's Law. Aka, anything that _can_ go wrong, _will._ " Maera replied. "Now apply that on a Planeswalker scale, and you get the sorts of disasters we usually end up dealing with."

"Like pissing off an Elder Dragon in the center of his planar stronghold, and getting your arm blown off when he fries your Spark."

"Yeah. That." Maera shoved her hand into her pants pocket. "Ah, to be honest, _that_ was a case of biting off way more than we could chew."

"No kidding."

Maera grunted. "So, where to from here?"

"Who says we're leaving?"

She peered at him. "Well, we can't stay here forever." She replied. "Hells bells, you said we've gotten a hefty bounty on our heads now, thanks to the Inquisitorium. Why the hell _is_ that, anyway?"

Grimoire shrugged. "No idea. I'm going to be hacking their system, or trying to anyway. It shouldn't be as difficult as it could be, since I used to...be one of them."

"You still haven't really explained that part. I mean, I know you hated them because of your parents, but...still. You could've just gone after them _without_ joining."

"Let's just say that it was my best idea at the time, and yes I know it wasn't the greatest."

"Noooo comment."

Maera peered at him again, but he didn't say anything else. Maera didn't pry. _His business is his business. Not my place to go sticking my nose in. Been doing enough of that lately, anyway._

 _Maybe while he's hacking into this plane's version of Section Thirty-One, I'll curl up with a book or a datapad or something and get caught up on some of this plane's history. It'll be nice to have a little more context about this latest nest of angry wasps._

It was a good thing she was a night owl.

 _ **-XXX-**_

" **P** rogenitor, we've located where the Messiah was taken."

He opened his eyes, meditation broken. "She wasn't taken."

"How do you know?"

"I know _everything_." He rose, gliding fluidly to his feet. "Our Messiah wasn't taken. She went of her own will."

"I've already taken the initiative and told Indril where to look. The likeliest suspect seems to be Saiyani Spaceport."

"Did you tell him your assumption?"

"Well, no—"

"Good. Then it's less likely he'll screw things up."

"Progenitor? I'm sorry, but—"

He held up a hand, stopping the protest before it left the young man's mouth. "You were only doing what you thought was best. It isn't your fault you didn't know." He said. "Besides, Indril's an idiot. He'll be just as likely to take a wrong turn onto the Inquisitorium's doorstep as ending up at Saiyani. It's no matter; our Messiah will eventually come to us."

"How do you know?"

He folded his arms into the sleeves of his robe. "I just do." He said. "She has to, if she wishes to be able to leave."

The young follower was silent for a moment. "...As you say, Progenitor. I simply thought it appropriate that you know."

"I know. Now go back to your routine."

"...I'm not being punished?"

 _If you keep being dense you might be. I'm starting to get a headache._ "No. Now go."

"A-as you wish." the young man left, and he sighed in relief.

 _Finally._ He rubbed the bridge of his nose, head already pounding. _The voices...they never stop. They have to_ _stop_ _._ He thought. _Hopefully, reigniting my Spark will do that. Either that or kill me, but I'm game for anything as long as it gets all the voices in my head to_ _shut the hell up already._

He shivered. It was cold; he forgot to leave the heat on again. It had been so long without a _physical_ body, he'd forgotten that he had to worry about things like that.

He strode to the wall and tapped a control. After upping the temperature (how had it even gotten turned down in the first place?), he opened his library. He'd been on this plane for so long, he'd become as much an expert on its technology and magic as a native.

Of course, part of that had come from inhabiting several hosts through the years. Not all of them successfully, but what could you do? Most of the lunatics that came to this 'cult' of theirs weren't particularly talented with magic. And even fewer of _those_ could sustain a Spark—even a sealed one—for very long...

His eyes narrowed as the entry came up. _Even after this long, you still find a way to meddle, you bastard. You fucking faerie bastard. You can't come yourself, so your descendant does it for you. Convenient._ He balled his hands into fists, then closed his eyes and took several long, slow, deep breaths. _Calm down. You've waited two millennia, you can wait a few weeks longer. You don't need to be a god in order to be patient._

He reopened his eyes and dismissed the entry. He closed his library and strode to his bedroom, tossing his robe over a chair as he went. _I need to get some sleep. And then probably get laid; it's been too damn long since I last had some good, mindless, sex. With several people. At once._ He paused. _...Okay, maybe not_ _that_ _. I'm not sure I remember how everything works._

He cracked his neck and stretched as he entered his bedroom. He flopped face-first on the mattress, not bothering to either turn on the lights or put on pajamas. _That_ _will have to wait until tomorrow, though. Give my brain a day off; besides, the redirection of this plane's mana won't happen overnight._ A slow smile spread over his face. _And with any luck, from there, I'll finally be able to re-iginte my Spark, and leave._

 _And find myself some Eternities-damned peace!_


	6. Arrest

**Hullo again, readers. Welcome back to Birthright, and thanks to all of you who keep reading this crazy thing ^^. We're back to the action again, woo!**

 **Quick note, however; an IRL friend of mine has pointed out that my spelling is a bit off. So I've finagled a fix (I hope) by using Google Docs as my spellchecker, since Open Office's is for some reason borked on my computer. I have no idea why. I've sent this and the previous chapters through it and updated them accordingly, so any spelling bloopers should be fixed in the chapters before as well.**

 **I don't own any of WotC, nor am I affiliated with them in anyway. This would be canon if I did.**

 **Without further ado...**

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

 **Arrest**

" **So,** this Nasala's your girlfriend?"

Zachar felt the back of his neck coloring. He didn't need to look at Maera to know that she was prodding him for her own amusement, and the snicker confirmed it. "She is _not_ my girlfriend."

"Then why're you blushing?"

 _Because you're being_ _you_ _._ "Nothing." He crossed his arms. "Her clan's part of a nomadic convoy, one that my friends and I are on good terms with."

Maera raised an eyebrow. "Impressive?"

Zachar grunted. "You could say that. Let's just say that her people are a little...reclusive."

"Uh-huh. Reminds me of someone else I know."

Zachar rolled his eyes. "Whatever..." He peered at her. "When did Belinda say she was sending reinforcements again?"

Maera shrugged. "She probably started calling around the morning she woke up, after that little conversation." She replied. "Chances Are, either someone we know's been to Etrides, or someone we know knows someone who has." She waved her hand. "It's a big network of people who know each other. If you can't get in contact with someone directly, chances are one of the 'Walkers you know can."

Zachar knitted his eyebrows at her. "That doesn't seem like a very efficient system."

Maera shrugged. "Eh. Doesn't sound like it no, but it works surprisingly well. Granted, we're still working out the kinks of this grapevine, but so far we've developed this big, inter-planar web of connections that can make it pretty damn quick to get to someone on just about any plane."

"In practice or in theory?"

Again, she shrugged. "Little bit of both, I guess. There's plenty of Nope Planes out there." A beat. "Granted, a plane is still a _big_ place. Even if you get someone there, it's a toss-up as to whether or not they'll actually end up where the person is. Aiming a Planeswalk is kinda hard."

Zachar grunted. In his experience that was true enough. "I've found it's easier to 'Walk to a place you're familiar with, rather than someplace you've never been too."

"Exactly. Which is probably why I'm so good at landing on Jace's doorstep on Ravnica; I spend half my time there, anyway."

Again Zachar's eloquent reply was a grunt. He checked his watch."

"You seem impatient."

"Eh." He nodded to the airlock. "With any luck, they should be here any moment—" On cue, said airlock started cycling open. "Well."

Shortly after, the hatch opened and a familiar figure stepped out. She had alabaster skin, slightly pointed ears, light gray eyes, and white hair pulled back in a ponytail; she was kor. Seeing Zachar, she grinned. "Figured you'd be here. How's the others?" She held out her hand.

Zachar smiled back and gripped Nasala's forearm, giving it a squeeze to match the one he got from her. "They're doing fine. Tone almost had to cold-cock Ganneth to get his flu shot. Again."

Nasala rolled her eyes. "Not surprised." She released his forearm and gave him a hug. "I'm glad you're alright, though. When you mentioned the pirates—"

"They didn't do any irreversible damage." Zachar replied, returning the hug before extracting himself and nodding to Maera. "Anyway, this is the crazy person I mentioned."

To her credit, the faerie didn't seem insulted by this at all. In fact, she seemed to revel in being called 'the crazy person'. She held out her hand and chirped, "Maera Hellio. Half faerie, battlemage, artificer and equal-opportunity asshole."

Zachar groaned and rolled his eyes to the overhead. Nasala laughed. "Nasala Dermen. I've known Grim for, well..." she eyed him out of the corner of her eye. "...let's just say that I remember when he was gangly, awkward, and always tripping of the swim fins he called feet."

"To be fair, puberty has _long_ since finished and my feet no longer look like they were stolen from a giant."

Maera raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh, _this_ I gotta hear about."

" _No."_

Nasala smirked, and Zachar _knew_ that his dignity was going to be taking a nosedive in the near future. _Of course._ "he was wearing size eleven shoes back when he was twelve. His feet looked ridiculous."

Maera gigglesnorted, covering her mouth with her hand. "You know, they say guys with big feet..."

" _Shut up."_

"Your ears are turning purple. So's the rest of your face."

"You're children."

" _You're_ taking yourself too seriously."

"I am _not._ "

"Uh, I haven't known you for as long as Nasala has, buuuut..." Maera shrugged. "You really are acting like you've got something clenched up your ass. You'll give yourself a hernia if you take yourself seriously all the time."

"Is that why you don't take yourself seriously _at all?"_

"Yep!" The faerie grinned. "There's a special kind of zen that comes from not taking yourself seriously and giving absolutely no fucks."

"That would explain the toenail trimmings you left on the mess table."

"I cleaned them up. It ain't my fault my feet are gunk central." She waved her hand in front of her face. "Anyway. I'm guessing you've got quite a bit of pull in your convoy."

Nasala shrugged as they started down the hall, heading towards the main thoroughfare. "It's more like I know the right people." She replied. "My cousin's one of the clan leaders in the convoy, so he's where the go-ahead to pick you guys up came from."

"That, and Ganneth, Tone, X'vir and I are honorary members." Zachar added, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Which, considering kor culture, isn't a small thing."

Maera was nodding. "I believe it." She said. The woman looked like she wanted to say something else, but stopped awkwardly, biting her lip.

Nasala raised her hand. "I already know about Planeswalkers." She pointed to Zachar. "Found out when this idiot reappeared out of nowhere with ruined clothes, a dislocated shoulder, broken ribs, more cuts and scrapes and bruises than a barroom brawler, and half his hair missing."

"Please tell me he didn't land on you while you were sleeping."

Nasala snorted. "Gods no. Thank goodness."

"I _thought_ I'd 'walked into an unused supply closet. I was wrong." Zachar added, rubbing a spot on the back of his head. "Got a wrench to the head for my trouble."

"I made him explain." Nasala said. "It's also how Ganneth, Tone, and X'vir found out. Ganneth almost had a mental meltdown."

"Hey, he came around eventually. No psychotic breaks had to be dealt with, just Ganneth wondering if I was part tentacle abomination for a while." He made a face. "I'm not sure if he doesn't still think that, honestly..."

Maera visibly deflated. "Thank fuck." She said. "Makes things less complicated."

"That could be debated."

She snorted in reply."

Zachar rolled his eyes. "Anyway, how long are you going to be docked?"

"About a week, give or take." Nasala replied. "We're mostly stopping to take on supplies, trade information, and pick up a few passengers. Like you guys." She nodded to him and Maera. "Quarters for you all have already been set aside, and there's space reserved for _Sleipnir_ in _Setasra's_ hangar bay. Just try not to be late to disembark, I don't know how long we'll wait."

Zachar nodded. "Thank you, Nasala. I don't think I want to know how many strings you had to pull."

The kor woman waved a hand, dismissing it. "It's not a problem, Grim. For you, I'd wade through lava." She said. "Same with Tone, X'vir, and even that pain in the ass Ganneth."

"Just don't go after him with a hypospray. He'll probably shriek. And run away." Maera piped up.

Zachar snorted and Nasala laughed. "Did Tone have to cold-cock him again?"

"No. I just threatened to sit on him."

"Is that something you _usually_ do?"

The half-fae shrugged. "Only when someone's being _particularly_ obnoxious. And I've done it, too; it pays to be built like a tank." Zachar blinked at her. Maera frowned. "What?"

"A...tank? You?" He held out his hand in front of his chest, about level with the top of her head. "You seem kind of...short."

Maera stopped. Nasala looked away, humming. Zachar shot her a look. "What?!"

"Oh, nothing. I can just sensed when you've poked a hornet's nest, and judging by the color her ears are turning you _really_ did it."

Zachar glanced back to Maera, and he swore her ears were smoking. "I. Am not. _Short."_ She ground out. "I am five-foot-three! _That ain't freakin' short!"_

"Um. You're shorter than Nasala."

The kor put her hands up in front of her. "Hey, leave me out of this. I don't want to get hit by the anger tsunami."

Zachar flipped her off as his reply. "I can rest my elbow on your head."

Maera put her hand on her hip. "Five-three is _average height_. You're just abnormally tall."

"'Average height' my rear end. I've seen you literally having to _jump_ to reach something. You're short."

" _I'm not short you scrawny blue string bean!"_

He crossed his arms and glowered down at the woman, ears warming as he heard Nasala snickering behind him. "On what world?"

"On the same world where I'm related to a bunch of abnormally tall people!"

"Oh~! Do I hear a lovers' quarrel?"

Zachar groaned and rolled his eyes. "Hello, X'vir." He deadpanned.

Maera responded with a squawk. Then tossed an empty snack box from a nearby table at him. The Azeran just ducked and grinned, ears twitching. "Hey, I'm joking." he said. "Yo, Nasala. Have they started throwing punches yet? Should I get some snacks? Call Ganneth?"

Nasala smiled, but shook her head. "Not yet." She replied. "Anyway, Grim. You said you were going to explain what went down in person. I'm guessing Ganneth and Tone know?"

Zachar nodded. "So does X'vir." He nodded to the diminutive alien, who'd perched himself on the back of a chair. "And I figured that since I was calling in the favor from you, it makes sense that you not be left in the dark about it."

"And it's sensitive enough that you thought it'd be best explained in person." Zachar nodded. Nasala blew out a breath and ran a hand through her hair. "What did you piss off?"

"Take a guess."

The kor cringed. "Not again..." She shook her head. "You _do_ realize you can just _leave_ , right?"

"And I'm not leaving Etrides with them loose."

Maera jabbed a thumb at him. "I've tried this argument with him, too. I'm guessing it didn't work for you guys either."

"Ever since we found out he was a Planeswalker," Nasala sighed. "Aaannnd the stubborn idiot still hasn't gotten the memo."

"So sue me for caring about you idiots."

X'vir looked at his watch. "Ganneth and Tone're late. You think Ganneth's managed to break something since yesterday?"

"Doubtful." Zachar pulled a chair out from the table X'vir was at and straddled it. He powered up his gauntlet and his eyes shined blue as the holographic screen appeared in the air in front of him. He murmured a spell under his breath and traced a series of runes on the screen. The familiar tingle of magic ran over his skin, and he felt the the hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight as the spell spread out around them. "We shouldn't be overheard now. Got a dampening field up."

Nasala nudged X'vir with her elbow. "That means no yelling at the top of your lungs."

The Azeran stuck his tongue out at her. "Hey, I'm obnoxious. Not an idiot."

"Uh-huh. Right."

"Oh come on!"

Zachar sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Eternities help me..."

"Grim, mind if I give you a piece of advice?" Maera placed a hand on his shoulder.

"What?"

"Just embrace the crazy. Your sanity will thank you."

"Oh, _I've_ embraced the crazy. My common sense just hasn't caught up yet."

" _Suuure._ " She checked her watch, frowning. "What time did you say Ganneth was meeting us?"

"16:00." He checked his own chrono and frowned. The other two were late. He felt the hairs on his arms stand up in warning. "Something's gotten them held up."

"You sure Ganneth's not just constipated?" That was X'vir.

Zachar shook his head, slowly rising from his chair. He drew aether, the magic building at the back of his mind in preparation for a fight. _It's probably nothing. Wouldn't be the first time Ganneth fell asleep when he was_ _supposed_ _to be somewhere._ His paranoia though was screaming that it was something less harmless than the minotaur's absentmindedness.

The paranoia was confirmed when the man in black appeared out of nowhere. He clipped a small device to his belt; a personal cloaking device. His clothing, a black leather jacket over a black turtleneck and matching trousers, had no insignia. Zachar recognized his type anyway.

 _Inquitorium._

The man brushed imaginary dust off his uniform. "You are Zachar Urin, correct?"

Zachar's face hardened. Nasala had stepped away from the table, moving herself into a position that left her path clear of any obstacles. X'vir had hopped off his chair and his hand close to his blaster. Maera hadn't moved position, but her back was ramrod straight and her hand resting easily on the hilt of her sword. His hands moved to rest close to his daggers. "None of your business."

"I have evidence to the contrary." The man's tone didn't change, but his calm demeanor didn't hide the ice from the vedalken. "I assume your response means an affirmative."

Zachar chewed the inside of his lip. He already knew the answer, but he asked anyway. "Who the hell are you?"

"None of your concern," The man replied as he pulled on a pair of black gloves. "You and one Maera Hellion are under arrest, by order of the Inquisitorium."

So they weren't using the "official" law enforcement as a screen. Alarm bells went off in Zachar's brain. "Why?"

The man paused, and Zachar could see him debating whether or not it would be worth it to give the reason. "You've been labeled a potential threat to Confederation security." He replied finally. "I've been sent to bring you in for evaluation. I assure you that once any innocence is confirmed you will be free to leave."

 _'Free to go' my behind. He isn't fooling anyone._ "And if I think you're full of crap?"

"Then I'll have to use force, but I'd rather not. The paperwork would be a nightmare, but you already know about that, I'm sure." He stepped forward, folding his hands behind his back. "I repeat; you are under arrest, by order of the Inquisitorium. Come with us peacefully and things will be far less difficult."

"I'd think you'd need more charges than just 'potential threat', boyo." Maera snarked from next to and slightly behind the vedalken. "Pretty sure it's illegal to arrest someone just for suspicion."

The man's face soured. Zachar had to admit that he was impressed; it hadn't taken her very long to read up on Confederation laws. "You're not wrong, I'll give you that much."

"Great. Then come back with a warrant."

"I'm sorry, but I can't exactly do that." The man said with a sigh. "You see, you've already been declared enemies of the state. As have anyone allied with you. I don't _have_ to be carrying a warrant to arrest you, my word is enough."

X'vir shifted uncomfortably. Zachar didn't like where this was leading. "This wasn't approved by the Senate, was it?"

"That is none of your concern. I am simply here to do my job."

Zachar's grip tightened on the dagger's hilt, but he didn't activate the rune on it. Yet. "Unless I see a warrant, I'm not going anywhere with you. Nor are the others." _The promenade's too empty. I don't like it._

The man studied him for a moment, then sighed. "Have it your way, then." He snapped his fingers, and the air around them shimmered as cloaks were disengaged. Suddenly, the quartet was surrounded by armed—and armored—black-clad security forces, all decked out in the same stealth black as their commander. "I was hoping to avoid the paperwork."

Zachar backed up, him and the other three forming a box as they went back-to-back-to-back. "When I say run, break for it." He muttered.

X'vir nodded. Nasala simply blinked, and Maera grunted her assent from behind him. He heard a _snick_ as she made sure her sword was clear in its sheath.

The man raised a hand. "One last chance to come quietly, Mr. Urin."

Zachar set his face in a scowl. "You know where you can put those words."

He sighed. "Fine." He snapped his fingers. "Take them in."

The stealth-clad security closed in. Zachar waited until the last second before giving the signal. " _Run!"_

The promenade exploded into action.

* * *

 **Aaand back into the action we go! We got some new characters added to the group of weirdos, only to get thrown into the gauntlet again. Screwing with characters, so much fun~**

 **As always, reviews aren't required, but still feel nice. And if there's any additional spelling bloopers, feel free to let me know.**

 **~Hikari**


	7. Ouch

**Ehh, sorry about the delay in posting. Oops. Anyway, chapter ^^;**

 **I don't own Magic: The Gathering or anything else from Wizards of the Coast. Y'all know what would happen if I did.**

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

 **Ouch**

 **Maera** bolted, kicking the legs out from under one of the blaster rifle-toting, SWAT-team-looking man as she went. He went down hard with a yell of surprise, cut short by a swift kick to the back of the head. He collapsed.

Then she was back on the run, pulling up a map of the station on the HUD of her eyepiece. She was heading in the direction of where she and the others were crashing at the moment, but that wasn't her destination; that was the hangar bay where _Sleipnir_ was undergoing the last few repairs. Technically the ship was ready for launch, but there were still a few minor things that Grimoire (the goons' boss had called him Zachar, and Maera assumed that was either his real name or the name he'd given the Inquisitorium) was working on getting back up to his standards. But for all intents and purposes the annoying, AI-run ship was at 100% and ready to fly.

She figured that's where the others were going to go, too.

Maera saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and in a second she had her sword drawn and knocking away a transparent, glasslike saber. She planted her foot and pivoted, bringing Icefire around in front of her and pointing towards her attacker.

He grinned, bright white teeth shining. "We meet again, Miss Messiah." He said, giving her a salute with his sword. "You look much healthier than last time. It becomes you."

Maera groaned and rolled her eyes. _Not Captain Fashionably Challenged_ _again_ _._ She thought in annoyance. _Didn't he learn his lesson the first time?_ "You're pretty dense, ya know that?"

"One could argue that 'dense' and 'determined' are two sides of the same coin."

"Ehh...not really."

He shrugged. "I was sent to retrieve you."

"That's what you said _last_ time."

He tilted his head. "Ah, but this time I have better help on my side." He responded. "And this time, I will not fail to bring you home."

Inwardly, Maera groaned again. "Unless your home also has pizza, my bed, and the Internet, then I have no interest in it." She deadpanned. "Go away. Before I freeze you to a wall. Again."

"I don't think you can pull that off a second time." He took a stance, holding his saber in front of him. "I could see the pain on your face on the ship. I doubt you'll be able to pull that trick off again."

Maera's mouth went into a thin line. "Then we'll just have to find out, won't we?"

Captain Fashionably Challenged hummed. "I suppose." He replied, and charged forward.

Maera caught his blade on her own, grunting with the effort of holding him off. She wasn't used to fighting one-handed, and the amount she recoiled from the attack showed it. Having to use her off-hand didn't help matters any. Twisting out of the attack, she pivoted around on her back foot, swinging the katana around to take out his wrist.

He grabbed her hand easily, stopping the strike cold. "You'll have to do better than that, my dear." He said. "One could mistake it for murderous intent."

Maera glared at him. A muscle worked in her jaw. "I don't kill."

He hummed. "I can tell." He let her go, bringing an elbow in towards her temple. She blocked it with her forearm, realizing too late that it left her side wide open. _Shit!_

Her opponent smirked, and Maera's side suddenly erupted in fiery pain as a small blade was driven in. Hissing, she pulled herself away to minimize the damage, biting off the oath on her tongue. Again she reset her stance, only to again go immediately on the defensive as he drove his saber hard against her katana. The woman gritted her teeth and shifted her grip to a backhand hold, before breaking the lock and landing a solid _crack_ against his cheekbone with the butt of the hilt. She felt and _heard_ the bone give, and he hissed an oath of his own as he stumbled back.

Maera didn't let the momentary opening pass. While he was swearing about the broken cheekbone, she drove a steel-toed foot _hard_ into his crotch, eliciting yet another yowl of pain—this one far more high-pitched, and far less concerned with winning the fight. As he instinctively curled in on himself, the woman smashed her knee into his face, getting another satisfying _crack_ as another bone in his face broke.

Something tingled in the back of her mind, and Maera didn't bother waiting to see how long it took Captain Fashionably Challenged to recover from the broken face and busted nuts. She backed up, heading back the way she'd come to circle back with a different route. She sheathed her sword as she went, unable to shake the feeling that something was going wrong with Grimoire's escape.

 **-XXX-**

 **Zachar** ducked under the blaster fire, running a thumb over the rune on the dagger's hilt. The blade sprang to life on it and its twin, which he had in a backhand hold in his left hand. As the charges were resetting on the rifles, he shot from his cover and ran at the leader of the goon squad, instincts from his years as the Inquisitorium's unofficial assassin kicking in.

Only this time, they were being directed at _them_ , rather than some stranger they deemed 'high-risk'. Call it poetic justice.

He swung his left arm around, a feint. The man in black fell for it, holding up an armored hand to block, leaving him open for the actual attack. Quickly, his right hand jabbed forward, the blade of the dagger finding the seam in his coat and driving into his shoulder. The agent swore, grabbing for the offending dagger to pull it out, but Zachar was already out of arm's reach. He scowled at him. "I see your skills haven't rusted."

"Shut up, Evran. You just stink at combat."

The man's nostrils flared. "I'm giving you a chance to make this easy. If you do, it'll be a chance to come back and wipe the slate clean. But here you are, stabbing me in the shoulder." His voice was matter-of-fact. "I should be insulted."

Zachar flipped him off. "That's what I think of your being insulted."

Evran pressed a hand to the wound. It was bleeding, but not quickly; if Zachar remembered correctly, the man had been 'amped', or had his body altered so wounds he took would heal faster than an ordinary human. Or elf, or vedalken, or kor, or merfolk...or ordinary anyone, really. It was one of the 'perks' that came with working for Inquisitorium.

Of course, not _all_ of those modifications were legal...

Zachar didn't see the blaster bolt heading for the center of his back.

" _Get down!"_

Someone with very long hair and going at a speed similar to a runaway truck slammed into Zachar's side, bowling him to the ground. He hit, hard, right as the bolt screamed through the air where he'd been standing a moment before.

Right towards Evran.

The man's eyes went wide, and he slammed a command into his wrist computer. A gold shimmer wrapped around his body, just in time for him to get slammed into the nearest table by the stray bolt. The shield lit up red as it took the damage, rather than a hole burning through Evran's chest. Regardless, he was still _very_ unhappy.

For that matter, neither was Zachar. He pulled himself to his feet, hauling his rescuer up with him.

It was Maera...which explained the massive amount of hair. The first thing that came to mind was, _She wasn't kidding when she said she was built like a tank._

The second was, _Wait; is that_ _blood_ _?_

"A 'thank you' would be nice." The woman ground out, rolling to her knees and pressing a hand to the wound in her side. "Not too big on manners, are you?"

"Not when I'm getting shot at." He approached and tried prying her hand away from the wound. "You're bad at following directions."

She shooed his hand away and stood. "When my gut says things're about to go sideways, I like to listen. Usually it's right." She said, scanning the area with narrowed eyes. "Aaand it's still giving me that feeling. Didn't he have more goons?"

Zachar retrieved his daggers and reactivated them with a touch of the runes. "Some of them went after Nasala and X'vir."

"You don't sound very worried."

"I'm more worried than I look, don't worry." Zachar replied, holding the daggers loosely at his sides. "But they're not missing arms. Or bleeding."

Maera snorted. "I'm used to being outnumbered."

Zachar raised an eyebrow. "Really."

She stuck her tongue out at him, then spun on her heel and drove her fist into an armored gunman coming up behind her. She hit his facemask so hard that her fist _literally broke the mask._ Zachar's eye twitched. "The hell. Is wrong. With you."

"I'm mad."

"I got that. Do you usually react to things that annoy you with violence?"

"Yes. Killing shit in video games is my go-to therapy."

Zachar nodded slowly, giving the groaning man on the ground a worried look. _By the Eternities...she's a walking ball of anger._

" _Zachar! Stop watching your girlfriend pound peoples' faces in and pay attention to what's in front of you!"_

 _Sleipnir_ shouting in his ear jerked him back to reality, just in time to put his gauntleted arm in the path of a low-powered blaster bolt. Evran was standing again, readjusting the power setting on his blaster and looking annoyed. "And _this_ is why I told her I didn't need backup. They're idiots."

Zachar flipped his daggers into a backhand grip. "I thought you wouldn't complain if your target was dead."

Evran grunted. "Not in this instance. You can't face consequences if you're a corpse." He aimed the blaster. "Now hold still so I can get a clean shot..."

 _Hells no._ Zachar did exactly the opposite. He charged forward, driving his shoulder into the man's diaphram. Evran looked more surprised at the attack than angry, and Zachar used that to his advantage to get the man into a pin. He drove his knee into his chest and held his wrists above his head. He pressed a dagger to the man's jugular. " _Why are you here?!"_

"You're abnormally upset. This isn't the first time you've been cornered by us, after all. I'm surprised you haven't _left_ yet."

"Shut up." Zachar snarled. He ignored the sounds of grunts being put to the ground in very painful ways. "You've had two of my friends arrested. And I _know_ that if this was just another attempt to bring me back in, they wouldn't have sent someone as high-ranking as _you_."

"You've eluded us for a long time, Zachar. You're high on our hit list."

"Damn good thing I've got a few tricks _you lot_ don't, then."

Evran sneered. "All the tricks in the world won't help you. Once you're part of the Inquisitorium, you're _always_ part of the Inquisitorium."

Zachar pressed the dagger harder into the man's neck, hard enough for blood to bead along the blade. "I seem to have left easily enough."

"You only left because you were _allowed_ to leave." Evran's sneer was still in place, seemingly unconcerned with the blade cutting into the skin of his neck. "We don't let our people go without a _reason._ Don't you think it's suspicious that in all your time in the Inquisitorium, especially given your _job—_ "

" _I'm not a killer!"_

"You seem pretty intent on becoming one right now."

"Probably has something to do with the fact that I _hate your fucking guts."_

Evran tsked. "You're losing your cool, Zachar. It isn't like you. And it'll come back to bite you in the ass one of these days."

"As long as you go down first."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Oh, well. Looks like you'll just have to learn the hard way."

Zachar was opening his mouth to reply when the tattoo around his eye lit up in white-hot fire. He screamed, dropping his blades and releasing the grip he had on Evran as he put his hands to his face, the area around his eye socket _burning_. He fell sideways, eyes screwed shut in pain. It didn't take very much effort on Evran's part to turn the tables.

 _Damn...I thought I'd deactivated it..._ Zachar thought throughthe pained haze. His sight was blurred from the pain coming from the tattoo, but he could see well enough to reach for his dagger.

A booted foot slammed down on his hand, and he swore. Loudly. "You were _allowed_ to leave, old student." Evran's voice sounded echoey in Zachar's pained head, but it was still clear. The other boot slammed down on his back, pinning his other arm behind him and blowing the air out of his lungs. "And now it's time to bring you back to face the consequences."

Zachar craned his neck, twisting uncomfortably to see Evran's face. It was blurry from pained tears, but he could still see that sneer. "Piss...off."

"Tell that to the adjutant." The steel toe of Evran's boot rushed to meet Zachar's face.

Then it was dark.

 **-XXX-**

 **Maera** froze when she heard Zachar scream. The moment of hesitation earned her a close-range blaster bolt to the shoulder.

" _Scheiẞ!"_ Her hand went to the burn, and she could already feel her skin blistering, accompanied by the smell of burning flesh. She gagged, and cursed herself for dropping her sword. _Need to pay better attention._

The armored enforcer went to secure the katana, but Maera drove her knee up into his face and grabbed it before his boot did, his nose making a satisfying _crunch_. She retrieved her sword and gave the goon a _thwack_ on the back of the head with the hilt, and he stopped moving. Then she looked around, surveying what still needed dealing with.

Not much. The two goons who had remained when the others scattered were either out cold, or nursing body parts that had been violated by the angry mage. _Well. And Darren always said I was a klutz without spells in a fight._ She scanned the area, looking for the third member of the remaining goon squad.

She found him. Fastening a pair of cuffs around the wrists of one very limp-looking vedalken.

Her face darkening into a scowl, she snarled as she charged the man. She brought Icefire down in a slash across her front, aiming to bisect his chest. Or it would've, if he hadn't disappeared before the blow landed...taking Grimoire with him.

"Don't worry; your turn's next."

She turned to the speaker's voice—the commander of the goons—swinging her sword around to slash at him. She stopped with the tip of the blade barely poking his nose.

To his credit, he didn't flinch. If anything, simply looked amused.

"If you think a strip of sharpened steel is enough to scare me, then you're overestimating yourself."

Maera's grip on the blade tightened, but she didn't lower the blade. She stared the man in the eyes, not about to move until _he_ did.

He held her gaze, his own eyes...dead. She couldn't see any indication of what he might be thinking, any intention...only a pair of dead, cold gray orbs. His sandy hair was slicked back from his face, a broken crescent tattoo tracing his right eye socket. Just like Grimoire's.

It wasn't hard to put the pieces together. "You used to work with Grim."

"That didn't take you long."

"I may do stupid shit, but I'm not an idiot."

He raised an eyebrow. "One could argue differently. For example, sticking a sword in an assassin's face doesn't strike me as particularly bright."

"I don't do subtlety."

"I can tell." A beat. "You're either very brave or very hardheaded. Most sensible people would be at least a little intimidated when facing someone who kills for a living."

"Bitch, my best friend is head of an inter-planar assassins' union. I haven't just face assassins in a fight before, I'm friends with a few. You don't scare me."

"Then pray tell, what does?"

"None of your business." She drove the blade forward...

...only for the man to grab her wrist and stop her attack. Cold.

"Friends with assassins, huh? You could stand to learn a thing or two." He twisted her wrist. _Hard_. She heard the wet _crunch_ of cracking bones.

Followed by the searing _pain_ of a broken bone.

She screamed. And swore. And screamed. And took out some of the pain on his shin.

He retaliated by shoving her against the wall, an electrified blade in his hand and at her throat faster than she could think. She was gasping, but he wasn't even breathing hard. "Young girl, you need to learn a few things about fighting." He hissed. "First lesson: never hesitate. _Always_ go for the kill."

Maera kicked at his knee. He pressed the blade closer to her jugular.

"Second: _never_ run in screaming. Especially when someone you know gets felled." A beat. "Third lesson: there's no such thing as a friend in a fight. _Everyone_ is fair game."

Maera grit her teeth and scowled. She could feel blood beading at the shallow cut. She bit the inside of her cheek out of pain from her wrist. "Piss...off..." She hissed.

The man cocked an eyebrow. "Didn't hear that, sorry."

Her scowl deepened. "Piss. Off."

"A little louder, please. I think you're having trouble speaking with my elbow in your windpipe."

Maera snarled, " _Piss off!"_ and slammed her fist into the assassin's face. A fiery line of agony streaked its way up her arm, but his face made the same wet _crack_ sound her wrist had.

It was just a little bit satisfying.

He broke the hold, more out of surprise than anything. Biting hard again down on her tongue, she grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him forward, headbutting him as hard as she could.

Her ears rang. Judging by the way _his_ eyes were crossing, so were his.

Good.

She aimed a roundhouse kick for his head. It _almost_ connected. He put his hand between his face and the heel of her boot at the last minute, and used the leverage to flip her onto the ground, planting a knee in her back. She heard the familiar sound as a blaster powered up, right at the base of her skull. "Mr. Urin I had to take alive. Technically, I don't have to do so with you."

It wasn't the first time Maera had gotten a death threat. Far from it; hell, the MAA had even gotten a few contracts asking for a hit on a certain half-faerie Planeswalker who'd fouled up some pretentious, stuffy douchebag's plan. Some of them she'd even gotten a laugh out of, when Bels showed them to her.

So, that wasn't what scared her.

What _did_ scare her was that _this_ time, there wasn't a whole lot she could do about this man blowing her head clean off. Instinctively she was reaching for mana, but...

...Nothing was there. The part of her brain that directed magic to her will was cut off, and the fuel for her spells was just _not there._

And she was terrified.

 _He's going to kill me. He's going to_ _fucking_ _kill_ _me_ _._

"I'll give you this; you're a hell of a fighter. My face is already turning black and blue from our little brawl. But..." He paused.

"Good night."


	8. Face the Problem

**I suck at deadlines. This is no surprise XP. Welp.**

 **Anyway, thanks this week go to Abraxas Gadolinium MacGuile for reviewing _all_ previous chapters, following, and favoriting this hot mess of a story. This chapter's got less action, mostly a bunch of angsty goo. Have fun! X'D**

 **The usual disclaimer applies: I do not own Magic: The Gathering or anything else belonging to Wizards of the Coast; it's their thing, not mine. If I did, this fanplane'd be freaking canon, pfft**

* * *

 **Chapter Eight**

 **Face the Problem**

 **Maera** screwed her eyes shut, knowing that in a second she'd be a headless corpse. _Fuck. Fuck my life. Fuck my luck. Fuck me. Fuck the universe. Fuck the Multiverse..._

It took several iterations of her telling various higher powers to go fuck themselves before she realized that she was still thinking. Which meant that her brain was still working. Which meant that it wasn't spread in a bloody mess all over the floor.

Which meant that she was still alive to be able to _tell_ the Multiverse to go fuck an Eldrazi.

 _Da fuck?_

"I'd suggest getting _off_ of her. Or I'll have to break your face even more." Said a familiar voice. "But it looks like she's done enough damage already."

She felt the man's weight shift on her back as he turned. "And where did _you_ come from?"

"Your imagination."

"Be serious."

He snorted. "Hey, assassin boy, get your _ass_ ass in gear before I kick it up between your ears."

"Sorry if I'm not intimidated, but you don't look like much of a fighter to me.

"Say that to the solid-adamantium staff I've got in my hand right now, that's about ten seconds from smashing into your skull." A pause. "So move, or you're gonna get _shafted._ "

Maera groaned and banged her forehead on the deck plating. "Please shoot him in the foot. I'll pretend I was unconscious."

"Don't tell me you're actually _liking_ this? I mean, if I'd known you were into bondage I'd have—"

"Finish that statement and I'll crush your balls."

"Oh~kay, not doing so great then." The elf's boots clanged heavily on the deck plating as he approached. "Again; move it, bub. I _really_ don't want to torch you, mostly because we're in a floating tin can and I don't want to use up all the oxygen."

"How nice of you."

"Meh. It's more for my benefit than anything; be kind of a buzzkill to kill you, only to end up dying of asphyxiation in the process. Kinda nullifies the whole point of killing the bad guy."

 _Oh my god, Szord. Get to the damn point, before I grab you by the foot and yank you down to my level, broken wrist be damned._ Maera thought idly, wondering if her friend and the would-be assassin would finish their chat before or _after_ the others managed to deal with their own little goon squads..

"Sounds to me like you have a few unresolved anger issues."

A grunt. "I'd say more than a few, but right now there's only _one_ I gotta deal with." The stopped, and Maera could see the drow's boots out of the corner of her eye if she strained. "Get off. My friend. Or your skull's going to have a canyon in it."

The man chuckled. "I'm sorry, but I have trouble finding that threat very intimidating, coming from you. You look like you belong in a library, not a battlefield."

"Looks can be deceiving. Now get off, bastard."

"This woman has been labeled a thread to Etrides' safety. Either she comes with me, or I die."

"I'll take that as a no." A beat. "Maera, close your eyes."

"I've seen burn wounds before, genius. Some of which on _you."_

"That's not why." A sizzling and crackling sound came from his direction. "I'd rather _not_ blind you. Missing an arm is bad enough."

"What are you—"

Maera screwed her eyes shut as the newcomer released the spell. The light of it was _still_ bright enough to see from behind her eyelids. Once it had faded back to black, she cracked her eyes open, and surveyed the damage.

There wasn't much, surprisingly. A couple tables and their accompanying chairs had been pushed around in the common area, and there wasn't even a streak on the ground as evidence of the lightning bolt's passage; just the smell of ozone it left behind. Szordree Wyndal was standing barely a meter away, his staff held parallel to the ground in front of him, fist at his side, black-skinned and white dredlocks still sparking. The red glow of magic was fading from his pale blue eyes, and his glower was fixed at what—or in this case, _whom—_ had been blown away by the lightning bolt.

Following the line of his staff, Maera saw the target of the glower. The assassin who'd been about to blow her head off was crumpled on the ground, electricity still dancing along his torso and limbs, hair scorched and gasping. Just as the dark elf was glaring at him, the man in black was glaring daggers at Szordree, even as he was trying to get his muscles to stop spasming enough to stand.

Her eyes widened. _Damn, bastard's tough he's not only still alive, he's_ _conscious_ _._ She thought. _These Inquisitorium guys have some damn good agents if they can take a lightning bolt_ _to the chest_ _and not be out cold._

 _Either that, or_ _I'm_ _not at my top game._

She pushed the thought aside as she pushed herself up, hissing as she put weight on her wounded arm and side. Not waiting for permission, Szordree caught her by the upper arm and hauld her to her feet, the half-fae swearing the whole time. "Careful. Your side's bleeding. And...holy shit, how'd you break your wrist? It looks like you smeared spider guts all over it."

Maera rolled her eyes. "Can it." She looked back to the glowering, gasping assassin. "Damn though. He took that head-on and he's still breathing."

Szordree grunted and tapped his staff on the deck with a _clang_. "That's 'cuz I didn't shoot it off at full strength. And I'm going to guess that armor of his dissipated some of the energy, but even without it he'd be alive."

Maera's heart skipped a beat. _Wait...what?_ "You...didn't go full blast on that one?"

Szordree shook his head. "If I had, you'd have been blown away too. And electrocuted. Which I kind of wanted to avoid."

Maera's mouth pressed into a hard line. _He didn't use the spell at full power. That's why Mr. Ass-assin over there is still breathing._ She thought. _...And all my punching and headbutting and kicking didn't do more than annoy the guy. And bruise up his face._

 _I'm_ _definitely_ _not at my full game._

The thought did not sit well with the half-faerie.

"Y...you're...not st...stable." The assassin finally managed to grind out.

Szordree shot him a cocked brow and shit-eating grin. "Oh nine hells no. Life wouldn't be much fun without a couple screws loose, anyway." He made little circles next to one of his ears with a long, black finger in a 'cuckoo' sign. "A little nutzo every now and then livens things up."

The assassin's glower at the drow only darkened. "Y-you're a-a...th-thread to Etri-Etrides." He hissed, reaching for a small, thumb-sized device on his belt. "Ca...can't let y...you run l-loose—"

"Bub, if you want to catch all the loonies out there, you've got your work cut out for you. Now amscray, before I _really_ lose my temper on you."

The assassin gritted his teeth, but didn't say anything. Instead he held the device in one trembling hand and pressed a button. A moment later his form dissolved into shards of light.

He was gone.

Maera kicked the floor. "Son of a _bitch!"_ She snarled, pacing away. "That _fucker_ managed to grab Grim, and probably the rest of the weirdos—"

"Uh, Maera..."

"...and then decided _I_ was on his hit list, and mother _fucker_ I was _fucking useless!"_ She kicked a table a few times out of frustration, before sinking down into a chair. "He beat my ass, even _after_ I decked the last of his goon squad. But that isn't what burns the most." She took a breath, resting her head on her hand even though it hurt like hell, because of her wrist and the fact that she'd kept on punching... _with a broken wrist,_ like an idiot. And her head was starting to spin, as the blood loss from the knife wound—it wasn't deep, but it was a bleeder—she'd gotten from Captain Fashionably-Challenged.

Szordree was standing by, not far away as she went on her tirade. She closed her eyes, not particularly caring if he was about to reply or not. "It's the fact that I _couldn't fucking stop him_. I thought he was stupidly, superhumanly strong...but he probably wasn't. Augmented yeah, but probably not enough to make him the fucking Terminator." She drew in a deep breath and blew it out hard, willing herself to ignore the lump in her throat. "It...it's...gods, I don't want to say it. Like, _really_ don't want to say it..." _But it won't make it less true._

Szordree watched her, brow furrowed. Carefully, he joined her, leaning against the table. "You don't want to say what?"

Maera shook her head, biting her lip. She still didn't open her eyes. "That...that I..." She trailed off, biting harder. Told herself it was a bad dream, even though she knew it wasn't. That even in her worst nightmares she still had magic. Still had _something._

"I can't...I can't use magic. I can't draw mana...can't cast spells without them backfiring...or doing nothing altogether." A pause. She opened her eyes and glared at the ground.

"Szordree... _I'm not a fucking mage anymore._ "

 **-XXX-**

 **Maera** grunted her thanks to the aetherborn when Tone was done healing her latest set of wounds. The physical ones, anyway. The ones to her pride—no, her _self—_ were still wide open and bleeding.

She wasn't a mage. She couldn't draw mana without it going awry. She couldn't cast with her internal stores, not without something backfiring. In fact, nothing happening _at all_ was the _best_ outcome.

Her ability to use magic was completely...gone. Fried, along with whatever had fried her ability to Planeswalk. She could still feel her Spark burning, but it was a disconnected feeling. As if she was watching a video of a fire flicker, rather than feeling its heat itself.

Her Spark was still ignited, but she couldn't reach into it. She didn't feel the roar of the Blind Eternities like she should.

It bothered her.

" _It's a shame you have no idea what youré capable of, little faerie. Oh, well..."_

She balled her remaining fist, the stump of her shoulder twinging at the memory. _Bolas...if I ever see you again, I'm gonna skin your scaly hide and turn you into a leather coat. That way if you somehow manage to bring your trash ass back to life_ _again_ _I'll be fireproof._ She thought, angry. _...If I can manage to Planeswalk again. Or at least cast spells._

It wasn't until Tone waved a hand in her face that she realized they were giving her a concerned look. "You all right? You look like you want to put a hole in the wall."

Maera unclenched her hand, nodding. "Probably 'cause I do." She stood, pacing the room, arm wrapped around her chest. "I'm only at half my game. I'm a battle _mage_. I rely as much on magical skills as combat ability. And right now, all I've got is the _battle_ half..." It reminded her of back when she was a teenager, just dipping into spellcasting for the first time. She'd opted for the battlemage path...only back then, what she'd had and what she'd lacked had been reversed.

Without her magic, she felt _naked_. She hadn't started her arcane training until almost sixteen, so she'd been a mage for a relatively short time. But in that decade (give or take a year or two) her spells had become as much a part of her as if she'd spent her whole life in arcane libraries. She hadn't realized exactly _how_ much of her battle strength was magic until now.

Okay, sure. She still had her bladework, but as with spells she hadn't started _that_ until late as well. And when it came to problem-solving, she was best at problems that involved math and science. Or bashing something to bits. Or, ideally, both.

This lovely little issue was _neither_ of those. There was nothing that could be quantified in math equations or alchemical formulae, and there wasn't anything in the way she had to smash her way through. It was a problem _in her_ , one that didn't have a clear path to a solution.

And it made her _mad._

"Son of a _bitch!"_ She yelled, kicking the wall. Hard. Her foot smarted, which made her madder, which she directed into kicking the wall _again._ And again. And again. And _again_. Several times, until she was fairly certain her entire foot was black-and-blue—if she didn't break a toe or two. She sank down against the wall and pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her forehead on her knees. She wrapped her arm around her legs, pulling them close. "Mother _fucker_ I hate this. I hate this so much. Life can go find a flaming barbed wire dildo and get fucked up the ass with it."

"You know, as much as I sympathize with your opinion," She heard the shifting of clothing as Tone came over and sat beside her. "I don't really think taking it out on the wall is the best way to go. Unless of course it was your _intention_ to turn your foot black and blue."

Maera grunted. "I'm wearing boots. You can't see if my foot's black and blue."

"No, but you dented the wall. A _durasteel wall_. If your foot _isn't_ bruised, I'll eat my shirt."

"It's barely a divot. It'll work itself out with artificial gravity fluctuations or...something."

"Well right now it's still a dent and you still made it. Take off your boot so I can take a look at your foot. I think you might've broken Ganneth's record for how quickly you re-injure something."

"Thanks. Funny." She didn't move.

After a moment of waiting for a response, Tone shook their head and let out a frustrated breath. "And you're about as stubborn too."

"So're you."

Tone made a sound halfway between a hum and a grunt. "Look at who I'm _friends_ with. Ganneth, X'vir, and Grim are all stubborn as a mother scorpion. Nasala at least will _do_ things she's not thrilled about, though it's still like pulling teeth."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Oh, trust me. You haven't tried dealing with a mother dire scorpion who's dug herself in. it's a pain in the ass."

"I was talking about the stubbornness."

"So was I."

Maera grunted again as the doors opened. "I was going to ask how she's doing, but I guess the answer's not so good." Szordree said as he entered.

"Not really, no." Tone rose as they spoke. "She's gotten herself worked up in a funk."

"I do _not_ have myself worked up in a funk."

"Tell that to the _wall_."

"It was either that or find someone's face to beat in, and I'm not much of a fan of jailtime."

"Again; _wall."_

Maera lifted her head and propped her chin up on her knees. Then she blew a raspberry at Tone, like the mature adult she was.

The aetherborn returned with a snort and a rude gesture.

She repeated the raspberry.

Szordree rolled his eyes to the overhead. "Mystra help me." He muttered, shaking his head. "Sooo I'm guessing the banging I heard was her kicking the wall."

"She left a dent."

"It's barely there!"

Tone let out a long-suffering sigh. "See what I mean?"

Szordree snorted. "You can't seen her with her asshole emter full. It gets _really_ bad."

"Hey, is it my fault people are dumb? It seems to be one of the few constants no matter what plane you're on; stupidity abounds. I cope by being an asshole."

"And I cope by cracking bad jokes and annoying high-ranking rulers."

"You forgot the _dad jokes_. And the _puns_."

The drow grinned. "You just don't have an appreciation of the finer things. There's nothing sweeter than a nice, aged pun."

I can think of a few things. Like wine. Or cheese. Or my week-old smelly gym socks."

"Isn't that where the cheese comes from?"

Maera unbuckled her boot and threw it at him. "Shut up. This is why you don't have a girlfriend."

"Who said I wanted a girlfriend~?"

"Or a boyfriend!"

Tone was picking up the thrown boot between their thumb and forefinger. "Okay, one: I'd appreciate it if you didn't throw shoes at people. Two..." they took a whiff of the boot, then held it out at arms-length and put their hand over the lower half of their face. "My _gods_ , what in the _hell_ is wrong with your _feet?!"_

"Hey, in my defense I just got done with a fight. Two of them. Boots are gonna be rank after that."

"Yeah." Tone dropped the boot. "It also smells like something curled up and _died_ in there."

"Be glad you didn't go to high school with me, then. Apparently my smelly shoes could clear a classroom."

"...I'll take your word for it." Tone deadpanned. They came over and took a look at the bruised foot. "Well. I figured you'd managed that."

"At least nothing's broken?"

Tone gave her a deadpan look. "Just shut up and hold still." They laid a hand on her foot, and Maera felt the now too-familiar itching of the injury being healed. "You've got a real talent for getting yourself hurt while blowing off steam."

Maera grunted. " _Usually_ I take out my anger on a punching bag, or a video game." She pinned Szordree with her own deadpan glare. "Or tall, skinny, annoying pyromancers who have a thing for dad-worthy puns."

Szordree simply waggled his eyebrows and said, "All's fair in pun and war."

Tone blinked. First at Szordree, then at Maera. "Does he have an off button? Or one for mute?"

Maera stood. "Unless you want to break out the duct tape." She replied. "But then there's a very high possibility he'll set it on fire."

"You sound like you're talking from experience."

"I am." Maera responded at the same time Szordree chirped, "She is." Maera gave another glower. She stood, brushing imaginary dust off her front. "I'm going to go do...something. I don't know yet."

"Continue moping?"

She stuck her tongue out at the drow. "No. Yes. I don't know." She blew out a frustrated breath, running a hand through her hair. "I...I need to think. About all of... _this._ "

Szordree leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "You going to be all right?"

Maera shrugged. "Now? Hells no. Eventually..." She shrugged again and shook her head. "I have no idea. It's just kinda...a lot right now."

"Take all the time you need, hon." Tone said, perching themselves on the edge of the table. "Just come back if you managed to get yourself into _another_ fight."

Maera grunted again and left the clinic—again, pulling on her jacket as she went. She started back towards the hotel she'd been staying, letting her feet take her there on autopilot while she digested the recent events. _I can't use magic. I can't Planeswalk. Grim's been arrested by Inquisitorium goons. And a fight I'd ordinarily be able to hold my own in ended with my ass getting handed to me._

 _I_ _have_ _to figure out what's wrong. I just don't know_ _how_ _._ Her hand balled into a fist. _Damn it...i hate this. I hate feeling so_ _useless_ _._

Maera stopped, her feet having brought her to one of the observation decks instead of her hotel. He brow furrowed, then she shook her head and sank down onto one of the couches. She slumped into the cushions, running her hand through her hair and rubbing her forehead. _Normally I'm good at solving problems like this. Go to the nearest library and dive into some books...or ensconce myself in my lab, figure out how whatever works, and figure out how to break it. Or blow it up. Or fix it, or...whatever. Or just set it on fire._

 _I can't_ _do_ _that this time. I can't go up to my own Spark and punch it in the face till it works right; magic doesn't work like that._ She tilted her head back and groaned, closing her eyes. She banged her head on the back of the couch. _It's so_ _frustrating_ _. I'm better at having problems outside for me to deal with. At least_ _then_ _there's a way to blow it up._ She pushed her glasses up and rubbed her closed eyes with thumb and forefinger. _This...I can't. And there's no clear place I can go to start puzzling it out._

She sat there in silence for several minutes as she thought her brain into knots. She wasn't sure how long she'd sat there, before someone plopped down onto the seat next to her. "Somehow I'm not surprised I found you here."

Maera cracked open an eye. "Hey, Rill. I thought you'd be off grumping at a computer or something."

The kor snorted. "You look pathetic."

She rolled her eyes and flipped him off. "And people say _my_ bedside manner is shit."

"Quit bitching. You're fully healed, aren't you?"

Maera made a face. "If you mean physically, then I'm at tops. Well..." she shrugged the stump. "Mostly. But there's only so much a healer can do, no matter how damn good they are."

Rill grunted. "That may be the only thing I miss about before the Mending. Things like losing a limb, or even losing your whole _body_ was just an inconvenience." He snapped. "Just will it, and bam—you're back with all your parts intact, and ready to break the face of the bastard that blew you up in the first place."

"You sound like you're talking from experience."

Another grunt. "More or less. Ask Karr the next time you see him about the Urza Incident."

Maera was rubbing her eyes again, but stopped and blinked at the man. "The...what?"

"Ask Karr. I don't remember much other than being very pissed off and Urza ending up hanging off of a tree branch in his underwear. And looking like he'd been thrown down a cliffside."

"Where the hell was this?!"

"Ask Karr." Rill repeated, sitting back. "But, regardless...I _don't_ want to go back to pre-Mending power."

"You saying that just to make little ol' post-Mending me feel better?"

Rill shook his head and crossed his arms. "No. it's true that before the Mending we were _gods._ " He peered at her. "You no doubt felt it when you and Belinda had your little time-traveling adventure."

Maera nodded. "Yeah..." She paused for a moment. "I can see _why_ some of you old farts wouldn't mind having that power again."

"I take offense to that."

"Pbbfft." She fiddled with a lock of her hair. "...I also saw _why_ the Mending had to happen. All those people with _that much_ power was tearing reality apart."

Rill grunted his assent. "And to be honest, it should've happened sooner." He added. "If not to prevent the damage from getting so bad, then to knock certain pompous windbags down a few notches."

"Like Bolas, you mean."

"And Ugin. And Asrask."

"Who the hell is Asrask?"

"You know how big an ass Bolas is?"

"Nooo, I would _never_ have guessed."

Rill rolled his eyes. "Imagine if he was an ilithid."

Maera blinked. Then cringed as the sheer Nope Factor sunk in. "Yyyyech. Nope. No way, nuh-uh, _noooope."_

"Yeah, that's about right."

Now it was Maera's turn to roll her eyes. "So. You came here with Szord?"

"Yeah." He crossed his legs, resting his ankle on his knee. "From the sound of it, you guys managed to get pretty fucked up."

Maera pointed to the stump where her right arm used to be. "No shit, Sherlock." She deadpanned. She let her arm fall and crossed her legs indian-style. She rested her chin in her hand and stared out the window at the gas giant below. "We got our asses handed to us, and I'm pretty sure the only reason we didn't get killed was because Bolas was bored and decided to play with us."

"You'd be right there." Maera peered at Rill as he spoke. "I'm serious. You guys are alive for _exactly_ that reason; Bolas was bored and needed some amusement."

"You sound like you're siding with him."

Rill snorted. Loudly. "Okay, now I'm _really_ offended." He shook his head. "Trust me, I'm not. In fact, if y'all had managed to _beat_ the giant windbag, I'd have taken you all out for drinks on Middle-Earth. That giant, scaley, oversized leather purse is the source of most of the Multiverse's problems. Him, and the Phyrexians."

"Don't forget Urza."

Rill barked a laugh. "Him, too. Only he's _dead_ , but that doesn't mean that the shit he pulled while he was _alive_ isn't still causing problems..." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "That's _another_ thing I'm glad the Mending did. Reduced the amount of trouble a single Planeswalker could stir up."

"I don't know, we can still cause _plenty_ of chaos..."

"So I've heard." He paused, and the change in tone when he continued wasn't lost on Maera. "...I've also heard that you've lost your ability to draw mana."

Maera sighed and looked down at the floor, sagging into her seat. "...Yeah." She replied quietly. "I can't draw mana to replenish my stores, and when I try casting with what I _do_ have left..." She shrugged. "It goes haywire. My ability to use any kind of magic is just...not there. Or, it's there but all twisted up in knots and gets tangled even more when I try casting spells."

Rill was silent for a while, likely letting that fact sink in. Maera heard him shift and get up and walk over to the edge of the room; a minute later he'd returned, holding a bottle of dark amber liquid out to her. "Here."

Maera looked over and frowned at the bottle, and at Rill. The kor responded with a raised eyebrow, then set it down on the coffee table before dropping back down on the couch, twisting off the cap of his own beer. "You look like you needed a drink."

Maera gruned and picked up the beer, holding it between her feet as she twisted off the cap. She held it up in a toast before taking a swig; the alcohol burned as it went down, and the drink had notes of malt, caramel, and roasted almonds. She hummed her approval before continuing. "I don't know how the hell to start coming at this problem. I'm better at figuring out how best to blow something out of the way than I am at un-knotting someone's mana lines."

Rill hmmed. "Not every problem can _be_ solved by bashing your head through it. Sometimes you need to bury your head in books."

Maera snorted. "I don't think that'll work, either." She fiddled with her bottle, trying to decide how best to word her next statement. "Rill...I'm not sure if I even still _am_ a mage. I mean, if I can't cast spells...hells bells, if I can't even _Planeswalk_..." _Then I'm not a Planeswalker anymore, either._

Rill made a sound in his throat. It wasn't quite a hum...it was deeper. "Question." He said a length.

Maera was taking a drink of her beer. "Shoot."

"Can you still _feel_ your Spark?"

Maera frowned, but closed her eyes and felt deep, deep within her, searching for the familiar roar. "...Yeah, it's there."

"And it's still ignited, right?"

She hesitated, but finally nodded. "Yeah. It's just...it doesn't feel _right_. Like it's not mine. Or it's...disconnected, I guess. I'm not sure what the right word is."

"How so?"

Maera frowned, still with her eyes closed. "It's like...uh...it's hard to describe." She murmured. "Like...you know when you've got a campfire going? How can feel the heat and the pops and cracks of the wood?"

"Yes."

"It's...I don't know. It's like that, only rather than sitting in front of the fire I'm watching it on a TV screen or something. Or that I'm far enough away that I can see it but not feel it" She paused. "...I suck at explaining things."

"No, I think I get it." Maera opened her eyes and looked to Rill. "Your Spark's still burning, but there's a barrier between you and it. And, consequently, the source of your magic."

Maera narrowed her eyes and tapped the rim of her bottle against her lower lip. "I..guess so?"

"The fact that you can still _feel_ your Spark means that it wasn't sealed off. That you're still, technically, a Planeswalker." The kor continued. "There's just the big mess that's your fouled-up spellcasting ability that's in the way. I'll bet that once you get that untangled, it'll clear up not just the spellcasting but the Planeswalking too."

Maera sat back against the couch again, her frustration returning in force. "Which brings us back to the _original_ problem; how the hell do I do that?!" She snapped. "Hell, _can_ it even be sorted out?! For all I know, when Bolas twisted my own magic against me and blew my arm up, he fouled it up for good!" She let out an angry breath. "Hell, might've even taken it for himself."

"Okay. First, think; what in the Eternities would a big, smelly Elder Dragon need with the abilities of a socially-awkward half-faerie with anger issues?"

She thought. And then bopped the neck of the beer bottle against her forehead. _I feel dumb._ "...not a lot."

"Exactly." He nodded to her. "So I doubt he took your powers for himself. Instead, he's more likely to have used a spell to counter and then tangle up your mana lines, crossing your magical wires and causing an arcane short whenever you tried casting. Effectively incapacitated you as a mage, nullifying any threat you may have posed." He took a swig of his beer. "My point is, since your magic's still there it's not a permanent problem. A hard one, but not permanent."

Maera grunted, and fiddled with her beer bottle before taking a swig herself. "...You sound like you've dealt with this before."

Rill shrugged. "More or less." He replied. He stared out the window, eyes distant; whatever he was looking at, it wasn't the spacescape outside. "When my Spark ignited...I landed on Tarkir, and was dealing with much the same problem you are now."

Maera idly swirled the last of her beer around in her bottle. "Oh?"

The kor nodded. "In my case, it was the _ignition_ that twisted up my magic. It took me a while to sort it out and figure out what was happening, and where I was; about all I know at the time was that I was _not_ on Zendikar anymore."

"That how you met Allandir and the others?"

"More or less," Rill replied with a nod. "He, Amanisa, and Dane were the first fellow Planeswalkers I met." A small, wistful smile touched his face. "I didn't know what to make out of _any_ of them at first. Until then, I hadn't had much contact with non-kor outside of the odd passerby. And I'd _never_ seen a dwarf before."

"Welp. Dane must've been an...experience, then."

Rill looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Not just Dane. Have you ever been in a drinking contest with an elf?"

"Well...no." _And to be honest, I've never been in_ _any_ _drinking contests...unless you count chugging five sodas at once for a giant belch._

"Here's a piece of advice: _don't._ You _will_ lose."

"Noted." She raised her beer in a salute before draining what was left of it. "I'm assuming you managed to un-knot your magic."

"Obviously." He polished his off as well before pointing the empty bottle in her direction. "My point is, it _isn't permanent._ I'll be a pain in the ass and be a headache, but you'll manage to work it out."

Maera placed her empty beer bottle on the coffee table and leaned back in her seat, resting her hand behind her head. "That still doesn't tell me anything about where to start."

Rill let out a breath. "Maybe this will. Look," Maera turned towards him, and he tapped a spot on his temple. "Up here is where we keep our spells. Our magical knowledge. The _words_ we use to direct our mana into spells." He said. "But, that's not _where_ we do the casting."

"Your point?"

Rill cocked an eyebrow. "We cast our spells from _here._ " He moved his hand to his chest, tapping a spot over his heart. "From our _heart_. Magic is, at its core, instinctual. Yes, the spells we use often take the same of words or runes, but those are simply a shortcut. A tool to use as a focus; technically, _any_ spell can be cast just by thinking of it." He explained. "And half the time, we don't even think about the mechanism that does it...because we're not even sure there _is_ one. Haven't you ever had those moments when it feels like a spell almost casts _itself_?"

Maera snorted. "A few times. It's...weird. But not a bad weird...I don't think."

Rill snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "Exactly." He pointed to her heart. "If you want to find a solution, the best advice I can give you is to look _inside yourself._ Take a moment to turn your mind inward, and let your heart lead instead of your brain."

Maera cocked her head and gave him a funny look. "Rill, I think you might be turning into a hippie." She said. "A very cranky hippie."

Rill snorted. "If that's the case, then I've been one from the start." He rose. "I'm not sure if it'll help, but try meditating." He suggested, shrugging. "Though I've got the sneaking suspicion you're _not_ the meditation type."

"Not really." Maera shook her head. "It's kinda...out of my repertoire."

"Well, seems like _all_ of this is out of your repertoire." Rill pointed out. Maera snorted and looked away; he wasn't exactly _wrong._ "And, frankly, sometimes it's not a bad idea to step outside your comfort zone."

Maera hummed, but didn't reply. Rill was almost to the door when she piped up again. "Rill?"

The kor turned. "Yes?"

"Why...exactly...did Allandir give me his staff? It seemed pretty important to him when he did, and when I asked why he just gave me this shitty smile and said I'd know when I'd need to."

Rill let out a sigh and ran a hand down his face. "That smarmy little..." he shook his head. "You made an impression on your ancestor, Maera. A _hell_ of an impression; you didn't stick around very long back then, but he _saw_ something in you. Potential, I suppose. And...something else."

She frowned. "What?"

"Balls." A pause. "And...I think he _knew_ you were only scratching the surface of what you could do. That there was _so much more_ underneath what you already could do." He studied her for a moment, running a hand down his chin. "Allandir was a pretty damn good judge of character. He didn't pass his staff on to you on a whim. He _knew_ you'd be right for it."

Maera chewed the inside of her cheek idly and stared at her palm. "Scratching the surface, huh?" She muttered. More than once she'd been referred to as 'one of the most powerful Planeswalkers since the Mending'. She _thought_ that meant her ability as a Living Artifact, her ability to draw mana and change it to whatever color she needed—or wanted—for a spell. Was there something beyond that? "Do you think he's right?"

Rill shrugged and crossed his arms. "No idea. I never lived in the guy's head—and given the kind of crazy stunts he'd pull, I don't think I'd _want_ to." He inclined his head to her. "But I _do_ think he _was_ right about one thing."

Her frown deepened. "What?"

"You're one _hell_ of a good person. You protect who and what you care about. Don't _ever_ let _anyone_ tell you it's pointless.

"Because it isn't."

* * *

 **More fanwalkers, yay! X'D. Next chapter's not gonna have a lot of action either, but more plotty stuffs. Then kicking up dust time again, so hang in there those of you who like the action aspect ^^**

 **Keep reading, all.**

 **~Hikari Hellspawn**


	9. Owned

**Meant to have this up sooner, but I got distraced by IRL and Inktober. Which is consistently being derailed by IRL, ick.**

 **Anyway, thanks to my readers and reviewer, AGM. Have fun with this foray into Zachar's headspace! X'D**

 **As usual, I don't own Magic: The Gathering or anything else by Wizards of the Coast. I wish I did, but for the sake of the Gatewatch's sanity...mebbe it's best that I don't, ehe *sweatdrops***

* * *

 **Chapter Nine**

 **Owned**

 **It** was dark.

Zachar _hated_ the dark.

It was a stupid fear. One that he _should_ have outgrown years ago, but for some reason he never had. And so, that was why he was currently sitting cross-legged in the corner of his pitch-black cell, trying his damnedest to keep the fear at bay.

It...wasn't working.

Currently, he was sitting with his legs crossed, wrists resting easily on his knees, eyes closed (despite the fact that even if they _were_ open, he'd be just as blind), trying to work past the fear and meditate. So far the only effect it was having was keeping his brain occupied enough so he wasn't reduced to desperate puddle of scared vedalken.

Barely.

He took a breath. _Calm. Focus yourself, Zachar. Freaking out would be to their advantage, so don't freak out._ He reminded himself, unclenching the fists he'd unconsciously made. _Try to keep a clear head._

He'd woken up in this cell, the transport already at FTL—he could tell _that_ much at least from the engines. It was subtle, but he'd lived so much on _Sleipnir_ that he knew the low rumble of an active FTL drive almost better than his own heartbeat. The cell had been dark, so dark that at first he'd been afraid he had been blinded...and if he was being honest, he still wasn't _entirely_ sure that was the case. Regardless, he couldn't sense anything outside of his cell, and there was no technology he could reach within the cell he could reach out to. And even if there was, the metal collar around his neck would've prevented it; it cut off his connection to the aether currents entirely. He couldn't have cast spells if he'd wanted ot.

On top of it, by the time he'd woken up he'd been changed into prisoner scrubs; loose pants, sleeveless shirt with no pockets, and no shoes. Zachar tried not to think about his captors changing his clothes while he'd been unconscious; the thought made his skin crawl. They hadn't even left him his chest binder.

He shuddered. _That alone_ made him feel worse than just the darkness. He hated his body, the sheer... _wrongness_ of it. Most of the time, he ignored it as best he could, going about his daily business...and since the world saw the appearance of a man, it treated him as such. But now that he'd had that stripped...

It reminded him just _how much_ he hated his anatomy.

 _No doubt just as calculated a move as leaving my cell completely dark._

He heard a door open and the shifting of fabric as someone entered. He didn't move from his position; if he did, he was fairly certain he'd either be so stiff he'd trip over his own feet, or so jittery he'd do so. The newcomer stopped before him. "Stand."

Zachar opened his eyes and peered up at where he assumed the person's head was. The door had to have closed, s it was still completely dark. "We're not there yet."

"Stand."

Apparently, he was not going to get any answers out of his visitor. Silently he stood, and the person shifted. A moment later, a blindfold was buckled over his eyes and his wrists were bound with cuffs, before he was led out of the cell and down the hall. The deck was cold under his feet, and it was more than a little frustrating that he'd had to be blindfolded; it wasn't as if he wasn't privy to the existence of the Inquisitorium, or hadn't been on one of their ships before. _It seems a bit much if you ask me._

The feeling of dread that had been gnawing at him since he woke up intensified. He clenched his hand, trying for some sort of outlet for the pent-up frustration.

After several turns and a short lift ride, he was led to another room. The cuffs were magnetized to the table and the blindfold removed as he sat. the guard left the room, the door lock whirring shut behind him. After spending so long—at least a day, possibly more—in the pitch-dark cell, the low light of the interrogation room was almost blinding, and the vedalken found himself blinking at the brightness.

The interrogation room was bare. The four durasteel walls were bare, and the chair and table were both matte gray metal. The table was built as part of the floor, and the only adornment on the top was the electromagnet that held his cuffed wrists to it. The chair sitting across from him was a twin to the one in which he sat, indicating that he was going to have company. When, there was no indication of.

His intuition was proven correct when a familiar face entered the room. It was the woman who'd contacted them at the start of this mess, back at Mezlar Station; Sonna. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun, her pale eyes almost colorless, and a thin tracery of lines betrayed her more-than-human ancestry. Her suit was tailored, cut close to her body and her shoes clacked on the durasteel of the deck. She slid into the the chair o the other side of the table and set her data slate down, laying the stylus down next to it in a precise motion. "It seems things have come full-circle, Zachar."

Zachar's fist clenched. "I hope you're happy."

"I get neither satisfaction nor disappointment from this, Zahar." Sonna replied, folding her hands in front of her. "I am simply doing my job."

"Of course you are. Just like everyone else doing the Inquisitorium's dirty work."

Sonna sighed. "It was a mistake for you to leave, Zachar." She said. "You could have achieved so much."

"That's exactly what the assassin you sent said about my parents. As he was standing in the pool of their blood and aiming a blaster at my heart."

"They were a liability. They had to be eliminated before any harm could be done."

Zachar's mouth twisted. "And is that what you're about to do with me? Bring me to be executed in some dark hole somewhere nobody will be able to find?"

"No." Sonna picked up the stylus and tapped on the slate. "You're far too valuable for that."

"Then what? It's not as if I'm part of some counter-organization, nor do I have any political pull whatsoever." He sat back as much as his cuffs would allow, stuck to the table as they were. "What could you _possibly_ gain by bringing be back to home base alive, rather than putting a blaster bolt in my head? Especially given whom you sent to do it."

"You're correct about both of those." Sonna tapped once more on her slate before putting the stylus back down. "As for what we could gain...complete security for Etrides."

"Still on about that?"

The woman sighed, rubbing the tattoo around her eye. "You don't get it." She said. "People like _you_...these 'planes walkers', as you call yourself, can come and go as they please. You certainly do."

"You've been keeping tabs on my 'walks?"

"You're the reason we _can_ detect when someone leaves or enters our universe." Sonna re-knit her fingers and narrowed her eyes. "If you hadn't joined our ranks, the world of planes walkers would still be unknown to us. Thank you, Zachar."

"Just get to your damned point."

"Etrides needs to be protected, Zachar." Sonna said. "And as none of the Inquisitorium leaders are planeswalkers themselves, you are unique."

Zachar felt ice starting to trickle down his back. "I am _not_ going to go and hunt down other Planeswalkers for you. Not in a million years; the moment you send me on a mission will be the _last_ time you see me."

"I find it hard to believe that you would abandon your colleagues so easily."

"They aren't colleagues. They're friends. I'm sure you've encountered the concept before."

Sonna hummed in her throat. "You'd be back."

"Right at the foot of your boss with a blaster aimed at their head."

"That's rather hamfisted, don't you think?"

"If it gets the job done."

Sonna was silent for a moment. Then she let out a breath and steepled her fingers in front of her. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you won't be taking your old job." She said. "As good as you were at it. No, you're getting a...promotion, of sorts."

Zachar's brow furrowed. The ice running down his spine got colder. "What sort of 'promotion'? Have you managed to get _another_ Planeswalker on your payroll?"

"No, sadly." She blinked slowly. "But, we only need _one_ of you, anyway. I'm sure you're familiar with the Hive."

It felt like the cold sweat along his spine flash-froze to liquid nitrogen, it went so cold. "You...what?"

Sonna's eyebrow raised. "I see you've grasped what's going to happen to you. Good." Her voice was mild, as if they were discussing preferences for coffee. "Then I don't need to explain anything to you."

"No. You don't." A pause. Then, "Why?"

"Like I said before; the protection of Etrides." Sonna replied, her voice still even. "People like you, these _planeswalkers_ , can't be allowed to come and go whenever they please. How are we supposed to know they aren't here for some nefarious purpose? The mere _presence_ of planeswalkers is potentially destabilizing. If we don't find a way to put some sort of barrier around Etrides, or at least a shield against these beings, one of them could toss the entire galaxy into chaos. Not ot mention what sort of chaos could spread across the entire _universe_..."

Zachar's nails dug into his palms. "You can't assume _every_ Planeswalker out there is an enemy. Most of them don't even know Etrides _exists_ , let alone give a flying crap about our planar politics."

"But some of them _could_ be enemies." Sonna paused. "Orders are orders, and better safe than sorry, right? And with _your_ knowledge and abilities added to the Hive, we'll be able to track and react to any entries and exits to Etrides even better and faster than before. If we can capture any planes walker who comes here, then we won't need a shield to keep them out."

"If you start kidnapping random Planeswalkers who happen to take a wrong turn, you'll end up with their friends at your doorstep. Their very _mad friends_."

"From the sounds of it, you planes walkers seem to be under the impression that we 'planes bound', as you call us, can't really do much if you decide to leave."

"That's because you can't."

Sonna looked him up and down. "Really. It seems that we've done a pretty good job of it with you."

A muscle worked in Zachar's jaw. He didn't want to admit that Planeswalking took a significant amount of mana to do; he had to draw enough from both his surroundings as well as across the Blind Eternities themselves, enough to poke a hole in reality _just_ large enough for a person to slip through...and then seal up behind him. As far as he knew, the Inquisitorium did _not_ know that Planeswalking was magically-based.

Though he wouldn't be surprised at all if they'd managed to come to that conclusion on their own. It wasn't as if they didn't have a lot of brainpower in the Hive; he didn't know the exact number of people who made up the hive mind, but he was fairly sure it was easily at least a hundred. All of which with varying skills and of every sentient race—barring dragons—that they knew of.

Except Planeswalkers, of course. As far as Zachar knew, nobody who'd been absorbed into the Hive had an ignited Spark.

No wonder the Inquisitorium wanted him alive. The prospect of knitting the consciousness and skill set of a Planeswalker into the Inquisitorium's central body of command must have them salivating.

He certainly would.

As it was, he was surprised he wasn't trembling. Frankly, the idea of having his consciousness absorbed into a hive-mind was...terrifying.

 _I wish I didn't have this collar wrapped around my neck about now. I'd send a few_ _special_ _spells through their main computer and crash this ship into the nearest star. Sure, I'd go with it, but at least I could 'Walk away before it hit._

Something in him rebelled at the idea of sending several hundred people who likely had no _idea_ who signed off on their paychecks to their deaths, but he reminded himself that it wasn't as if their employers would think twice about it either. More than once he'd been sent to several destroyed Inquisitorium ships to retrieve sensitive information, rather than find survivors.

Sometimes he did. Other times, either the survivors had left or another "cleaner" had been sent to finish what the crash had started.

His stomach churned at the memory. _That's what you joined them to stop._ He reminded himself. _Along with the rest of their shady shit._

 _That won't be possible if I'm absorbed into a hive mind, though._

"Before your inevitable tirade starts no, you don't have a choice." Sonna said, jerking Zachar back to the present. "Don't try to fight it; it'll only cause you brain damage during the integration."

A sardonic smirk twisted the corner of Zachar's mouth. "And you wouldn't like that now, would you? A brain-damaged member of the Hive."

"What happens to one of the Hive gets passed to them all, Mister Urin." Sonna responded. "That applies as much to knowledge as it does to injury or illness. It's in not only ours, but also your own best interest not to resist."

"Sorry if I don't find your speech reassuring. The idea of my identity being subsumed into a mass of brains isn't something I'm particularly looking forward too."

"Your identity won't be subsumed. _You_ will still exist; all of your memories and experiences will still remain. They'll simply be made part of a larger whole." Sonna tucked her stylus away into a pocket and stood. "And no, you won't be relegated to floating in a tank; you will be well cared for, I assure you." She slid her slate under her arm. "In short, you will not die, and your self will not die. Your mind will just become part of a greater consciousness."

Zachar set his jaw, flexing his hands. Sonna was stepping away from the table when he spoke again. "Why? Why tell me this? Wouldn't it just be easier just to let me sit and wonder until you plug me into your living computer?"

His oversimplification got on Sonna's nerves, he could tell by the set of her mouth. She didn't respond to the dig, however. Just to his question. "Ordinarily, you wouldn't have been told."

"Then what's different this time?"

Sonna raised an eyebrow, giving him a mild look. " You may not like it, but you were one of our best operatives."

"You mean assassins."

"Call it what you will; you were still one of our most valuable. If only because of your... _unique_ ability." A pause. "Cal lit a kindness. One that if it were anyone else in charge of your delivery, you would not get."

"I'm touched. I'll be sure to send flowers."

Sonna rolled her eyes. "Enjoy the rest of your trip, Zachar." She said. "And let this serve as a lesson. One you join the Inquisitorium, you are _owned_ by us. And we always have ways of retrieving our wayward possessions."

She tapped a control on the wall as she left the room. A moment later the guard returned, replacing the blindfold and deactivating the magnetic lock on the table before leading him back to his cell.

Once back and the guard gone, Zachar rubbed his wrists to get the blood flowing back into them. Well, _now_ he knew what was happening; they wanted to plug their pet Planeswalker into their Hive, and use _his_ knowledge to block and capture—and potentially even _study—_ and others who stumbled across Etrides. That wasn't a prospect he was looking forward to."

On the other hand, from what he'd learned...Sonna was right, as much as it galled him to admit. There really _wasn't_ a lot Zachar could do. At least, not while they had the collar on him, cutting off his connection to the plane's mana.

 _That means I won't be able to do anything until they wire me into the hive. I won't have much of a window. Whatever I do, it'll have to count, and it'll have to be_ _fast_ _._

" _Once you join the Inquisitorium, you are_ _owned_ _by us."_

 _That_ galled him more than the idea of becoming part of a hive-mind.

 _Nobody_ _owns me. Not now, not when I was born, and certainly not anytime soon._

He set his jaw and scowled into the darkness. _They want to wire me up and add my brain to their central command? Fine by me. But I'm_ _certainly_ _not going along peacefully with their little plan._

A plan of his own was forming in his mind; a form that would kill him, no doubt. But if turning his own brain into a weapon was his only option... _I'm going to set off a mental bomb that'll take out the_ _entire_ _Hive. When I go down, they're coming down with me._

 _This is one possession you should've just let go, assholes._

* * *

 **I know, still no action. It's coming, I promise...just one more chapter or two, I swear *sweatdrops***


	10. What it Means to be a Planeswalker

**Soo...NaNoWriMo was a debacle. Rampant computer issues and two jobs mean it's a miracle I managed to get 41k words written during the month of November.**

 **In any case, I'm finally able to post chapter ten of Birthright! Thanks, as always, to readers and our regular reviewer, AGM. And to my IRL friend GamerDragon13 for lending me her character Dione.**

 **Disclaimer: The usual-I don't own MtG or anything else you recognize here. I just wanted a space-age, high-tech and high-fantasy plane dammit.**

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

 **What it Means to be a Planeswalker**

 _ **I'm** not going to sit around and do nothing._

It'd been three days since Grimoire had been taken by the assassins; sent by this mysterious Inqisitorium, she suspected. It was the only guess she could come up with, anyway.

Which was why she was fastening her katana and wakizashi a her hip, and swinging her sports bag over her good shoulder. She tapped the earpiece she had hooked over her left ear. " _Sleipnir_ , I got a question."

" _And hat would be?"_ The AI sounded like it— _he—_ had just been woken from a nap.

"How many people can you fit?"

A pause. _"Regularly, or comfortably?"_

"Max."

Another pause. A loner one. Finally, _Sleipnir_ responded. _"Uh, normally I've got four weirdos on board; Grim, Ganneth X'vir, and Tone. Five when Nasala's with us."_

"What's the size crew you're made for?"

" _I can house six crew comfortably. I was built_ _before the aether break, so a lot of the extra engine space has been converted to cargo and extra living space."_

"And if you had to pack as may people as possible? Like if you were helping to evacuate a space station or something?"

 _Sleipnir_ sighed. _"Absolute maximum, I can haul about ten or twelve. It won't be very comfortable, though."_ He paused. _"You're going after Grim."_

"That's the plan."

" _You don't know where he is."_

"No, but I've got a pretty good idea where they're _taking_ him, and I'm pretty sure _you_ know how to get there."

Another sigh. _"That I do. Going alone would be stupid."_

"I know." She turned the light off in her room and picked up her staff; it was taller than she was, almost six feet of solid ironwood. Celtic runes were carved along its length and it was wrapped with indigo cloth at two intervals for better grip when staff fighting, with a fist-sized, a softly glowing hunk of aquamarine held in place at the top by a wood lattice—one that looked like the staff _grown_ the lattice _around_ the gem. For that matter, Maera wouldn't have been surprised if that was how Allandir had made the staff.

" _You've never killed, have you?"_

" _No."_

 _He sighed. Suddenly, her ancestor looked all two-thousand-plus years of his age. "Maera, mages like you and I...we're protectors. We put ourselves between the defenseless and those who would do harm, both physical and otherwise. And we do so willingly. At some point, all of us have to take a life._

" _One day, your summer will end, Maera. It does for all of us who choose to stand guard. You will have to kill...and if in you own time you're anything like what I've seen of you now, you won't enjoy it."_

Allandir's words to her had been in her mind ever since Amonkhet. Maera was no stranger to battle, but Allandir had been right; she'd never killed. Maimed, sure. Injured, definitely. But never once had Maera fought with the intention to kill, just to disable her opponents enough to eliminate the threat.

 _Maybe that's why I got hammered so hard. I didn't go in for the kill._

She pushed the thought aside. Even if she had, as the others had, the result would've been the same. Her grip tightened on the staff; in her gut, she knew her ancestor was right. She'd been a Planeswalker for over five years, and had been a battlemage since the moment she learned she could use magic. Maera knew she'd been lucky so far, being able to escape without blood on her hands.

 _It won't last forever_. She thought.

 _Allandir passed this staff to me for a reason._

She shook her head and left the bedroom. Her intuition told her that the end of her summer Allandir was talking about was coming, soon. She checked the rest of the apartment she'd been staying in, to make sure she had everything.

Satisfied, she left, locking the place behind her. She started down the hall and tapped her earpiece. _"Sleipnir_ , can you get me the others?"

" _Yes._ "

"Good. We're going after Grimoire."

 _And if anyone gets in my way, I'll rip their goddamn face off._

 **-XXX-**

 **W** ith _Sleipnir's_ help Maera and Ganneth plotted the fastest route to the Inquisitorium's home base. It looked like there were going to be several FTL jumps along the way, and some fancy flying as they got closer to the Core, but all in all it would only take about four days.

 _Sleipnir_ suspected that that was about how long it would take the Inquisitorium transport, as well. It was faster, yes, but it would also have to stay out of major travel channels so as to avoid any...awkward explanations. Unlike _Sleipnir._

Of course, this was all based on assumptions made based on what _Sleipnir_ had in his databanks—which the ship admitted wasn't everything, not by a long shot. They were all flying by the seat of their pants.

Well, it's not as if Maera wasn't familiar with that. That had been the game plan of most of the fights she had been in in the past.

Of course, she _also_ usually had magic at her disposal. Hopefully on her way to this plane's version of Section 32, she'd be able to sort _that_ part out.

"I'll go on a transporter. I'll meet you via Planeswalk. But there is _no_ way in all of the hells on all of the planes that you're going to be able to _get me on that metal bubble!"_

They had to get Rill on the ship first, though.

 _That_ was going to be an...adventure.

"I've got it." Maera told Ganneth, the minotaur nodding with a grunt and a handwave. She stood and strode out of the cockpit—dodging a grumpy aetherborn and OCD Azeran—and down the ladder to the cargo hold and currently-open airlock.

Where Rill was having a rather... _heated_ argument with Szordree and Nasala. Currently, the later was bonking her head against the bulkhead out of frustration. Szordree was standing just inside the hatch, trying to convince the male kor that the ship was, indeed, safe.

It wasn't working very well.

"Look, if you want, you can stay in the cockpit so you can monitor everything the _whole time—_ "

"No. For the hundredth time, _no._ That metal... _contraption_ is a bubble just waiting to burst, and I am _not_ going to be on it when it does!"

"Oh, fer...Rill, this is no different than one of the airships on Ebberon, or Kaladesh, or Dominaria!"

"The hell it isn't. _Those_ are still in an atmosphere. _This_ thing is floating around in a vacuum!"

" _I have a name, you know!"_

Rill shot a rude gesture at the ship. "I am not. Getting. On."

"And how are you supposed to _get_ there?"

"Call me. I'll meet you."

Szordree threw his hands up and rolled his eyes. "You're impossible."

"No, I'm smart."

The drow blew out a frustrated breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. Maera put a hand on his shoulder. "Mind if I try?"

He shrugged. "Why not? You can't do any worse than I've been." Szordree grumbled. "I've been waiting for Tone to come down and ask what the hell's going on. And then probably slug this asshole."

"You are all insane. _That's_ a metal bubble floating in a vacuum. At least on an airship, we won't suffocate if it gets a hole punched in the hull."

"We'll also fall a couple thousand feet."

"You're a wizard; just cast a flight spell." Rill pointed to Maera. "And she's got wings."

" _You_ don't."

"That's what you wizards are for."

"I should feel insulted by that."

"Do I look like I care?"

Maera sighed and rubbed her temple. "Rill, just get on the damned ship."

The kor crossed his arms. "And how, pray tell, are you going to make me?"

Maera planted her fist on her hip. "I'll grab you by the back of your pants and _drag_ you on."

Rill looked her up and down. "I rather doubt you'd be able to do that."

"You really want to bet on it?"

"I'd bet a hundred pounds that you're bluffing."

"Rill, I've hauled asses that weigh more than yours. Gideon, after Nissa drank him under the table comes to mind, for example."

"Dragging a drunk Planeswalker out of a bar and a sober monk into a can of air in space are two _entirely_ different things."

Maera pointed to the ceiling. "I hate to tell ya this, but we're _already_ floating around in a tin can of air in space. It called the entire damned station."

Rill's eye twitched. "Don't. Remind. Me."

Maera smirked in satisfaction. "Point is, you're not really changing anything."

" _This_ place doesn't look like it was thrown together from a trash heap, at least." Rill grumped.

" _I take offense to that!"_

The kor rolled his eyes. "Does it have a mute button?"

" _I have a gender! And it's not 'it'!"_

Maera kicked the bulkhead. "Shaddup. Rill's just being Captain Crankypants again."

"I'm _not_ a crankypants!"

"Then why're you bitching about _everything_?"

"I don't bitch about _everything_. Just this gods-forsaken plane."

Maera rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Rill. We're haring off into the core of the galaxy to take on...well, their space mafia, basically, and bring back a friend of ours. You already said you'd come with."

"Yes. But that was _before_ I knew we'd be getting there in a tin can filled with air that looks like it's being held together with duct tape and paper clips."

" _I_ _can hear you, you know."_

Maera ignored the ship. From the looks of it, so did Szord and Rill. "Well, it's either that or 'walk off ad hop that when you get the signal you can actually _aim_ well enough and just happen to show up were we are."

"I'll take my chances."

Maera groaned and bonked her head on the doorjamb. She was about to speak when someone new spoke up. "For Azura's sake Rill, just get on the damned can. Or I'll help Maera throw your cranky ass on board."

She looked up again, and saw another familiar face. Dusky, silvery blue-gray skin, snow-white hair cropped in a short, boyish cut, lilac eyes, and lavender-toned lips. She wore leather armor underneath her traveling cloak, with the pouches of her trade hooked to her belt. Her ears came to a slight, rounded point, rather than tapering to a graceful tip like a full-blooded elf. Her arms were crossed, and her snowy brows were knit in a frown over those lilac eyes.

Dione Desidenius of Nirn was scowling right at Maera. The half-fae's response was a grin, followed by running up an glomping the slender woman. "Dione!"

"Ackgh! Stop squeezing; I can't breathe!" Dion gasped. She held her ribs when Maera let go. "Good to see you, too. I didn't believe Belinda when she said you'd lost an arm. Which brings me to my next question; _how the hell did you lose a fucking arm?!"_

Maera smiled sheepishly and looked away. "Uh..." She rubbed the back of her neck. "Annoyed Bolas. On Amonket. It went badly.

"No, rally." She deadpanned. "Maera, say still for a moment."

Maera blinked at her. "...why?"

"This." She headslapped the half-faerie upside the back of he head."

"Ouch! What the hell was that for?!"

"Whatever mess you've managed to get yourself ass-deep in. "Also...She headslapped Maera again.

" _Ow,_ dammit! What's _that_ one for?!

" _That_ is from Belinda. She thinks you're an idiot too, by the way."

Maera blinked owlishly at the half-elf dunmer. "I know. She told me over the phone."

"Good. Then we're on the same page." Dione started past Maera and towards the ship. "Now let's get this over with so we can get back home. I'm already not a fan of this plane."

Rill jabbed a finger at _Sleipnir._ "You're _still_ not getting me on that can."

Dione rolled her eyes. "Maera, you think you can handle his right side?"

"Positive."

"Good." Dione strode up and grabbed Rill by the armpit. "You're coming."

Rill scowled. "You _aren't_ dragging me onto that _thing_."

Maera looped her arm under his right one, catching him in a clamp. "That's _exactly_ what we're doing."

"Ohhh, no. No, nope, this is _not_ going to happen. Hells no—" The kor dug his heels in, or at least tried to; unsuccessfully. Maera and Dione dragged him over to the ship and up the ramp. "I'm not— _there is no way you're getting me on that thing! Put me down, damn it!"_

"Szord, lock the door!" Maera called once the two women had dragged Rill—kicking and screaming, literally—aboard the ship. The drow nodded and keyed the lock, and the hatched cycled shut and locked. Rill heard it and stopped, to shoot a murderous glare back at the drow behind him. Szordree just smiled and waved.

"I hate you all." Rill grumbled. He didn't continue resisting, so Maera and Dione let him go. "You kow that? You're all evil. Pure evil."

"Love you too." Maera grinned. A face poked down from the ladder; it was X'vir, with his oversized ears twitching. "What's up?"

"We're getting ready to shove off. Ganneth and Nasala're in the cockpit getting permission from flight control to head out." The diminutive Azeran surveyed the quartet. "This everyone?"

"Yep. We can do introductions upstairs."

"Great. Now get up here; I need _someone_ to act as a buffer, because Tone's getting their panties in a knot about the state of the medbay."

" _I do_ _not have my panties in a knot!"_

X'vir raised an eyebrow. "See what I mean?"

"Yeah, yeah." Maera waved her hand at him. "We're coming up, so scootch."

X'vir gave a jaunty salute and disappeared. "Well, looks like we're about to clean up another mess you've gotten yourself into." Dione sighed. "Do I even _want_ to know?"

Maera shrugged as she started up the ladder. "Not really, no." She replied.

Behind her, she heard the dunmer let out a long-suffering groan. Followed b Szordree saying, "Don't worry. It could always be worse; _you_ could've been the one with your arm blown off."

Maera kicked her foot out at him. "You're no helping! Now get your drow ass up here! And drag Rill, while you're at it."

" _I can hear you._ "

Rill's protest was ignored as Szord said something rude in drow. Maera just blew a loud raspberry down at him as she ascended to the upper deck.

 _ **-XXX-**_

 **U** nlike the last time she'd tried leaving a station—almost a month ago now, when she'd first arrived on Etrides covered in her own blood and missing an arm—their departure from Saiyani Spaceport went smoothly, and now they were cruising at FTL in the aether highway.

For now, there wasn't much to do other than sleep, surf the 'net, or (in Rill's case) argue with the ship's AI.

Maera entered her quarters on board, dimming the light to candelight-level. She wished she could have _actual_ candlelight right now, but he doubted it would be a particularly good idea to have an open flame on a ship where a good many things were potentially flammable. As well as the fact that, as Rill had pointed out (vehemently), they were indeed in a floating bubble of metal surrounded by vacuum.

She unbuckled her belt, setting her katana Icefire and her wakizashi Black Ice in the alcove next to her bed carefully, so she'd be able to grab the quickly if she had to. The tantô in her ankle sheath she undid from its strap and slid under her pillow, and she perched herself cross-legged on her bed. She laid her staff across her knees, closing her eyes and letting the tension in her body relax, leaning against the durasteel of the wall behind her.

Meditation wasn't exactly something she did regularly—or, for that matter, at all. But right now she had nothing but time, ans she wasn't going to get anywhere if she kept on chasing thoughts around in her head, hoping that if she went over everything enough a solution to her predicament wold magically appear. She had to do _something_ , and she figured taking Rill's advice to look inside herself and see where that led. She had no idea if it would work, but whatever came of it had to be better than the butkis she'd come up with so far.

So here she was, siting on her bed with eyes closed, telling all the thoughts running around to get lost so she could focus on...nothing. She let the rumble of _Sleipnir_ 's FTL drive lull her into a zen-like, semi-awake state, focusing on it and her breathing.

And, for the first time in a long time, she ignored her head...and followed her heart, wherever it led. O find out what it meant to be a Planeswalker.

And entered her inner world.

* * *

 **Hopefully, I'll get chapter 11 up before the new year. No promises though XP**

 **Keep reading!**

 **~Hikari Hellspawn**


	11. Inner World

**All right, I know it's been a while, but I've (finally) gotten this chapter done. As long as it is, the reviewing process shaved _two pages_ off of the total. So yeah.**

 **Thanks this month go to Helixical for favoriting and following both Birthright and myself, and shotgunRunner for adding this story to their favorites and follows. Thanks!**

 **And for reviewer cookies, the usual thanks go to AGM, who came up with the details for the planet Xelne, which is a rather, ah... _interesting_ anomaly on Etrides (and one that may or may not feature in a future story?). **

**Review cookie #2 goes to shotgunRunner for their input. X'D That's quite a bit of reading to do, and I'm glad you've liked it so far! As for the dialogue stuff, you're right about that being a style preference.**

 **As for this chapter, it's mostly exposition and...stuff. As per usual, I don't own Magic: The Gathering or anything else created by Wizards of the Coast, and I _certainly_ don't own the whole "Inner World" concept. That comes from one of my favorite anime, but is by no means evidence of a crossover. I just liked the idea and -cough-shamefullystolen-cough- _Ahem_ , LOVINGLY BORROWED for this fanfic.**

 **Enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven**

 **Inner World**

 **Maera** opened her eyes, and she was sitting cross-legged on her bed.

It wasn't the bed in her quarters aboard _Sleipnir_ , though she knew that's where she still was physically. This was _her_ bed, at home. She was sitting in the middle of the mattress, wrist resting easily on her knee, and her staff laid across her lap.

No, wait; _wrists._ Here in her mind, she still had both arms. Both very whole, very _there_ , flesh-and-blood arms. She looked around, both knowing intimately and not recognizing her surroundings Nostalgia filled her. This wasn't just her room...this was _her room._ The bedroom she'd grown up in, back in her hometown on Terrestiel. The home she hadn't been to in _years_.

It looked the same, but at the same time it was completely different. What she remembered were the furnishings of a preteen, the floor covered in a mess of books and dirty clothes and stuffed animals. The manifestation of her room in her head was still mess, but it was the mess of her adult self, her mind littered with the accumulation of the nearly fifteen years since she'd last seen the physical space.

There were two windows, as she remembered; one on the north wall to her right, and one on the east wall she was facing, both framed by galaxy-patterned curtains. The door was to her left, and the loft bed on which she was perched was situated the same way her bed growing up had been. There was even an overly-tall nightstand with a lamp to her left, both of which (minus the height, in the nightstand's case) twins to the ones in her childhood bedroom. She already knew where the closet and dresser were without looking, just as she knew this room so very, very well.

Yet...it wasn't the same. It was familiar, yet _very_ different.

For example, the old school desk in the northeast corner was gone. In its place there was a corner computer desk, with a closed laptop on top of it. There were papers and pencils strewn all over it, folders filed in its shelves, full of finished and half-done drawings...and _books_. So many books.

The corner opposite was similarly different; growing up she'd had one small, three-shelf bookcase there...which even then hadn't been enough to store _all_ of her books. That was still the case now, despite the fact that the corner was no home to not one, but _two_ floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, taking up the bare wall space to either side of them. They were _full_ of books, all from her real-world collection.

And the walls...all those years ago, they'd been plastered with posters of bands she'd liked and actors she'd had young-girl crushes on. Okay, so she still liked Simple Plan and Evanescence, but now those posters were replaced with ones of Ravnica, Zendikar, Nirn, Innistrad, Kamigawa...and, yes, next to her nightstand, Etrides. All of which were planes she'd been to, at some point or another.

Maera unfolded her legs and set the staff on the ground, leaning it against the bed frame as she climbed down from the loft bed. Underneath there were more loaded bookshelves and a pair of beanbag chairs...and a photo album. One that had her scrawl written across it, with a picture of herself and the rest of her friends on the cover, one she'd taken at the last New Year's celebration at Belinda's.

She picked it up and flipped through. It was full of photos, more than the book should have been able to hold—but, it wasn't a physical album, either. It was a manifestation in her headspace, a mental representation of her memories, one that she could pick up and handle here in the world of her mind.

She sat cross-legged in one of the beanbags, paging through the album. In it was everything from meeting her childhood friends—Nikolas Ivano the shadow nymph, Lise Soryen the drow, and Darren Asgard the dork of a vampire—to high school when she'd met Bels..to her Sparking.

Maera was an...oddity. She'd always believed in magic, even while the children on her world outgrew their magical sight. Even into high school and adulthood she retained her knowledge of the magical world, even as she remained—as far as she'd known—a normal human.

And then...she'd met Belinda and then Karr, both Planeswalkers. Shortly after, her own dormant faerie blood had begun to manifest, and she'd quickly gone from an outside observer to a battlemage. After years of being one of the 'muggles' protected by the magical nastiest, she hadn't thought when she decided to start putting herself in the line of fire.

She hadn't known what it was getting into. Even as, ten years after her first lessons in spellcasting, she finally Sparked. And promptly landed, quite literally, on Jace on Ravnica.

She traced the scar over her eye at seeing the image of Gideon, Chandra, Jace, Nissa, herself and Bels on Zendikar after taking down the Eldrazi. Liliana early in the morning, right before Maera had had to run for her life from the sleep-deprived necromancer. Ral with his hair in a sparking afro, after electrocuting himself for the umpteenth time.

Rill and Dane and Lini and Sorin and Amanisa...and Allandir, when she and Bels had been pulled back in time to seal away a demon that had threatened their home plane. When Allandir had passed his staff on to _her._

All of them. _All_ of the friends she had made over the years, all the things she'd been through with them were recorded in this book of memories. Every single one, from when she'd started kindergarten to the disaster of Amonkhet were symbolized as photographs in her mind.

"And it's still not full."

She'd never heard the voice before, but at the same time she _knew_ it. She didn't know how, but she did. She looked up and was faced with...a reflection.

He was tall, brown-haired, blue-eyed, freckled, and built like a tank. He wore...mage robes from Nirn, which in the modern Terrestiel surroundings looked very out of place. He looked more like he belonged in the College of Winterhold, than in the bedroom doorway from Maera's childhood.

But, as she studied his features, she saw more of _her_ in this young man standing in her doorway. He stood like she did, frowned like she did...even wore the same glasses as her. If she didn't know any better, she'd have said that he was her twin brother, if she'd had one.

His mouth quirked up in a smirk. "Now you're getting it." He rocked back on his feet. "Or, this is what you'd look like if you were a guy."

Maera nodded slowly and rose. "...I've never met you before."

"But I've always been here."

Again she nodded. "Yeah...I...know..." A pause. "Uhh...who _are_ you?"

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "You tell me." He said. "After all, I'm the manifestation of _your_ power."

Maera blinked. "My...huh."

"I'm pretty sure I didn't stutter."

Maera held up a hand and shook her head. "No, it's just..." She ran her other hand through her hair. "I'm talking to myself. _Literally_ talking to myself."

"Well, a _part_ of yourself, anyway." He corrected. "Like I just said, I'm the manifestation of your power within your own mind. The rest of it is, well..." He waved a hand, encompassing the bedroom. "That's all you."

Maera gave a nod. "Then why isn't the _rest_ of my psyche represented as people?" _Other than the fact that it'd be crowded as hell, if each facet of my personality was a being._

He shrugged, holding his hands up in an 'I dunno' gesture. "My running theory? Magic has a life of its own, and as a result one's magical ability does too." He shrugged again. "But I don't need to tell you that what makes magic _magic_ is kind of...wibbly."

Maera snerked. That it was. "So...since you're the manifestation of my power, you've got some sort of idea of what's been off...right?"

The look he gave her didn't just say no...it _screamed_ it. Maera groaned and hung her head. _"Why."_

"Hey, this is your head."

She flipped him off. She pinched the bridge of her nose and strode over to him. She squinted. "You look like shit."

"No. Really." Her...companion's tone was deadpan. Thunder crashed outside, and Maera started—she hadn't noted the storm outside. He snorted a laugh. "It's been like that for a while." A beat. "Since Amonkhet."

Maera's mouth went into a thin line. That was when her magic got all screwed up. She rubbed her shoulder, her right arm tingling—a ghost of it exploding in a shower of blood and bone and flesh. "Can't imagine why." She muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She shook her head. "Sooo...the storm's what's wrong with my magic. Why it's all screwy."

He raised an eyebrow. "Not...exactly."

"Aren't _you_ my magic? Don't you know what's going on?"

"Yes...and no." He made a face and rubbed the back of his neck. "It's...hard to explain." He sighed. "This isn't _entirely_ your mind, and I'm not exactly the one in charge."

Maera let out a breath and rubbed her temples. _All this esoteric shit is why I do labs and explosions. Straightforward shit._ "Okay. How is this all in my head and yet _not_?"

Her male 'double' made an 'ehhhh' gesture. "It's...weird. It's your inner world." He replied. He pointed to her head. "It exists as much in here," his hand lowered to point at her heart, "as in here. It's where everything about you is kept in some kind of incarnation. Your hopes, your fears, likes and dislikes, even your subconscious is represented somewhere in this inner world."

Maera grunted and nodded, looking around her bedroom again. Thunder crashed again, followed by lightning. "And mindset."

"Yeah. And that."

It explained the book of memories, the posters, the drawings, the metric fuckton of books on the shelves, and the mix of old memories and new possessions. Despite not having seen her childhood home in years, she'd immortalized it in her heart and it had grown as she had.

It gave Maera a case of the warm fuzzies. A case that was muted by the amount of thunder, lightning, and rain going on outside.

She scowled at the windows. "It sounds like that storm's trying to churn itself up into a tornado."

"Coming from the one who's been _running around in circles_ , it's not a surprise."

Maera, being the mature adult she was, blew a raspberry at him. "If this storm is in my head—and frankly, you look like shit too—"

"Thanks for your ringing endorsement."

"—I need to confront it. It's not a normal storm that'll stop on its own, I'm gonna have to give it a nudge." She eyed her 'twin' up and down. "That storm and your state are connected, since this is where my _self_ lives and you're part of that."

"Yeah."

Maera's eyes drifted to the stairs across the hall. "And since it's my head, I'm the one in charge...I make the rules. You live by them."

"And try to point out which rules are kind of dumb."

"Are you my common sense, or my magic's manifestation?"

"Yes. And speaking of common sense, you should listen to yours a bit more often. Probably'll help with the whole blowing-your-face-up problem."

"Har-dee-har." She nodded to the hallway behind him. "The rest of the house part of my inner world too? Or is it just my old bedroom?"

He shook his head as they headed down the hall and down the stairs. "It's all here, far as I know." He paused. "Y'see...the thing about someone's inner world is it shows who they _really_ are, whether they know it or not. Or want to _admit_ it or not; I can guarantee you'll find things in here that you probably don't _want_ to find.

"If someone's powerful enough, that power—whether it's magical, spiritual, or otherwise—will often manifest as a being in that world—like me, here. But whether there's a manifestation or not it reveals every bit f them, no matter how buried it is. Every facet of a person's inner world is a facet of _them._ " A beat, during which thunder crashed again. "Including weather."

Maera nodded, taking it in. From the stairwell, she could see the entryway and living room. The entryway had coats hanging up and shoes scattered, the ones she didn't recognize she assumed were her companion's. The hall that passed the living room and led to the kitchen didn't have the computer desk along the stairs, anymore—it was taken up by another bookshelf, it too laden with books. The living room was located through a large arching doorway, opposite the stairwell; it still contained the ugly, paisley-patterened sofa, two big squishy armchairs, a coffee table to one side of the room strewn with sketchbooks and pencils and yet more books, and the lamps next to the furniture. Even the familiar entertainment center was there, complete with TV and movies.

But, it had been updated as her room and the hallway had been. The armchairs were black and dark blue, and the drapes on the windows matched the galaxy-patterned curtains in her bedroom. The rug on the floor, rather than blue, was done in a night sky pattern to compliment the drapes. Mess was strewn about the floor, looking like he general disorder of someone living in the house.

Or simply a reflection of the garbage that usually floated around in Maera's head on a daily basis. It was a toss-up.

She could see the storm even better through the large living room windows; rain lashed them violently, so much so that even when the lightning flashed all she saw of the trees were dark blurs. The panes rattled as the wind howled outside. If anything, the storm was worse down here on the ground level than it was in her bedroom upstairs.

Whatever was wrong, the deeper she went the worse it was. Something deep, _deep_ down was indeed broken. And Maera didn't like it.

The young woman readily admitted that she didn't have all her shit together (any look inside her lab on Ravnica would show anyone _that_ ), and that she was in reality a hot mess in human form. But it was a...well, a _mostly_ controlled chaos. The fact that there was silent, unnoticed damage lurking in her psyche was...disturbing.

And the fact that she _didn't know abut it_ until now frustrated her. The chaos of battle didn't bother her, and she lived in a constant case of controlled chaos normally. It was something that came with being a Planeswalker, or so she'd told herself. But this...this she hadn't known about it. It made her wonder how long it had been going on, and whether she should've stopped and tried entering her inner world earlier.

Either way, she could see the signs _now_ , in the storm outside and mess inside. Her mind, conscious and unconscious, was a flying mess.

It was related to her lost connection to her magic. She knew it. She didn't know _how_ she knew it. Maera swallowed; if this had been lurking in her being, getting worse over time...

"No." She started, almost tripping over her feet and landing face-first on the tile of the kitchen floor. "There's been storms before, but none this bad or this long. And your brain is usually a gods-forsaken mess, but it and the storms have been worse since the Amonkhet disaster. And they've been worsening as time goes on."

Maera glowed at the young man as she took a seat at the kitchen island. "It's _really_ freaky when you do that."

He shrugged, putting on water for tea. "I live in your soul, which means I live in your head. It shouldn't come as a surprise that I can read your hot mess of a mind."

Maera stuck her tongue out at him. As he moved about the kitchen, she got a better look at him; his skin wasn't just pale like hers, it was waxy and sallow, as if he were ill. There were dark bags under his eyes, and the slope of his broad shoulders wasn't relaxed; they sagged and slouched, looking less like he was chill and more like he was tired and in serious need of a good rest. His hair stuck up in back, making Maera wonder when the last time he'd used a hairbrush was.

In short, saying he'd looked like shit earlier was an understatement; he looked like walking _death._ A tingle ran down he right arm, reminding her that in the real world it wasn't there. She remembered how twisted and knotted up her magic was, and how she couldn't draw mana and her spells went haywire when she tried to cast. Something in her mind clicked, and the words jumped out of her mouth almost faster than they came to mind. "You look fucked up because my magic's fucked up."

He paused. Then smiled. It was tired, and didn't do anything to help him look less like a corpse, but it was real this time. No sarcasm present. "Exactly."

Maera got up. "Here, let me." She strode around the island and took the teapot from him. "Take it from someone who _has_ dumped boiling water down her front, you don't want that to happen." She pointed to her newly-vacated seat. "Sit. Before you collapse."

He held up his hands in an 'I surrender'. "If you insist."

"If you don't I'll sit on you."

He sat. "You figured out what's wrong."

Maera grunted and pulled a box of tea from a cupboard—earl grey, one of her favorites. "Yeah. My magic's sick, hence _you're_ sick." She spooned a healthy amount of tea leaves into the strainer in the pot before pouring the boiling water over them. "And my spellcasting's showing it. And the storming outside is part of it too, the whole fucked up mess my magical innards are in."

He winced. " _Thank_ you for that image. Not sure when my appetite's going to come back after that."

Maera snorted and set the pot between them, pulling out a pair of mugs. She handed one to him before taking a seat again. "I..." She trailed off, chewing her lip. She didn't want to admit it, even though she knew she had to.

He arched an eyebrow, reaching for the teapot. He poured himself a cup, nodding in approval at the smell of bergamot. "And?"

Maera ran a hand through her hair and poured her own cup. "Ever since things went sideways on Amonkhet, I...haven't been sure. About a lot." She chewed her lip, not wanting to voice the thought. Because voicing it meant admitting it was true, admitting that there might not be a fix.

"I'm...afraid."

He was taking a drink of his tea. With slow, deliberate movements he lowered his mug and wrapped his hands around it. "You've been afraid before. Weren't you the one who said that the reason you fought so hard and so well was _because_ you were afraid of dying?"

Maera shook her head. "This is different." She pulled her feet up onto the stool, drawing herself in. She raised the mug of tea, the warmth seeping into her hands. "That fear in battle is logical, and purely for self-preservation. I'm afraid of dying, so I funnel that fear into anger, and when I get angry I tend to hit whatever's making me angry. Like whatever's trying to kill me."

Her companion grunted. "Or whoever just jumped out of a closet with a Grim Reaper mask."

Maera gave him a deadpan look. "Oh shut up."

His eyebrow cocked and he quirked an amused smile at the corner of his mouth as he raised his tea mug. "What makes _this_ fear different?"

Maera didn't answer right away. She took a drink of her tea, holding the liquid in her mouth, taking the moment to savor the taste of the bergamot as she thought about her answer. She wasn't really sure _how_ to place it, really...and that frustrated her almost as much as the fact that it existed in the first place. She swallowed, speaking slowly. "It's...at myself." She said, quietly. "At my power, at my abilities..." She took a breath, her mouth dry. "Afraid that, even will all _this_ ," she motioned to the world around her, "it's just...gone. For good. That I won't be able to use magic again. And that if I _can_ cast, what it'll do..."

She cut herself off, biting down hard enough on her lip for her to taste blood. Her hands shook, and she put the mug down on the counter before she dropped and broke it. The fear that her magic was screwed up beyond repair, that she'd been pushing to the back of her mind...she had to admit it now. And she hated it.

More than that, she hated that it seemed like she couldn't _do_ anything about it.

A hand came into her vision, the owner placing it over hers. "Hey. If it was permanent, I wouldn't be here. Your inner world would be empty, and you'd just be punching holes in the walls."

Maera looked up at him through her hair. "You sound like you're trying to tell me that just _talking_ to you is helping."

"Solving." He gave her a small smile, tired as it was. "Just making the decision to _look_ for me has done more towards repairing your connection to your power—to _me—_ than you know." A beat. "And it's not like you haven't faced steep odds before. Zendikar comes to mind."

Maera nodded. He wasn't wrong...the battle at Sea Gate was what they'd named their little group after; the Gatewatch. It had been a spur-of-the-moment naming, but one that seemed to fit all the same. They'd first come together—Jace, Nissa, Gideon, Chandra, Belinda, Karr and Maera—to take on the Eldrazi. It had been the planning that had gone into it and their combined power that had allowed them to first trap and then _destroy_ Ulamog and Kozilek.

They'd had similar successes on Innistrad and Kaladesh, neutralizing Emrakul on the former and driving Tezzeret to retreat from the latter. And in the case of Kaladesh, they wouldn't have even _gotten_ involved if it weren't for the past baggage that Jace—and Liliana—had with the bastard. If Maera ever got her hands on the sicko, she'd take that metal arm and stick it up his—

" _Image not needed._ " Her companion rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. "I get it. You want to do evil things to Tezzeret. He's not the point here, though."

Maera's mouth went into a thin line. He was right; she forced her mind back on topic. Back on the disaster that had been Amonkhet.

As an artist, Maera thought it was a beautiful plane. Or it _had_ been, until Bolas loosed the hordes of lazurite-armored undead on the populace, effectively turning the city of Naktamun into a necropolis.

The six of them had still been riding the high from their previous successes; they'd proven to be a good team, blending their individual skill sets and experiences to take on different brands of nasty. It seemed coutnerintuitive to stick a reckless pyromancer, shady necromancer, shy elf, awkward mind mage, charismatic heiromancer and smartass artificer together, but that was _exactly_ what made them so effective; their dynamics. They'd _thought_ it would be enough to best Bolas, or at least give him a bloody nose.

But it hadn't. Instead, _everything_ that could have possibly gone wrong did, and they didn't just lose. They'd gotten _destroyed_ , and Maera had watched s each of her friends had been beaten, one by one, and had been forced to emergency-'walk away.

Her grip on her mug tightened. She still heard Jace's scream. Saw Nissa's face contort in agony, the plane's magic so twisted and mangled by Bolas's meddling that it physically _hurt_ the elf to touch the leylines so much that she _couldn't_ scream.

A phantom burning rippled through the nerves of her arm, reminding her how _she'd_ been thrown across the Eternities to Etrides. She'd reached out, using a spell that she'd never cast before and wasn't sure she could handle—not much unlike how her Spark ignited, now that she thought about it. She'd been intending to us a variation of that spell to literally set the _blood_ in the Elder Dragon's veins _on fire._

Instead, Bolas hadn't just noticed what she was trying to do...he'd been _amused_ by it. He countered the spell as easily as he batted away a fly, catching and redirecting it back at her. Maera suspected he'd held back on purpose, given that it had only been her arm blown away. If he hadn't, even the hasty, imperfect ward wouldn't have stood a chance against the hijacked spell. The result had ended up with the arm she had been using to cast exploding into a burning red mist.

" _It's a shame you'll never know how much you could do, little faerie."_

Rage and the now-familiar frustration bubbled up inside her. He'd won. He'd beaten them _all_. Jace's mind had been scrambled. Nissa had been poisoned by the plane's messed-up mana. Maera had been magically crippled, and she had no idea what had become of Chandra or Gideon.

And Liliana? She'd run. She'd bailed on them when they were being overrun by the dead, reanimated by Bolas, and left them to take on the asshole Elder Dragon and his zombie army alone.

They'd _lost_. Bigtime. And now the rest of them were only the gods knew where.

 _Hells, I might even be the only one still alive. For all I know, the others could've ended up blind 'walking into the caldera of an active volcano, or just gotten lost in the Eternities. I might be the only one who was lucky enough to make it to another plane._

Her grip relaxed on the mug, her shoulders sagging as the thought sunk in. Now that she was in her inner world, there wasn't a whole lot she could do to distract herself from the horrible possible truth. Just like the fact that maybe, just _maybe,_ she was cut off from her magic altogether.

That she'd never be _able_ to draw mana again. The hell with what her new companion said. The thought hit her like a sledgehammer, right to the chest.

It scared her.

She didn't like being scared. She usually punched or exploded or threw something at what scared her. But she knew that this was _one_ fear that she couldn't fix by throwing an artronach at it.

Which just made her more scared. And then more mad. And then more scared...and created a positive feedback loop. She balled her hand into a fist and punched the counter top, swearing in elvish. _"Fucking hell!"_

Across the table, he didn't reply. Just let Maera go, yelling and swearing and cursing the various higher powers, the Blind Eternities, the Multiverse as a whole, and punching the wall until the steam was blown off. And until there was a fist-shaped hole in the aforementioned wall.

It was several minutes before the rage was blown off, her head cooled enough to _think_. She was standing in the middle of the kitchen, her fist bloodied from putting the _hole_ in the _wall_. As well as several more dents. Tired out and with much less steam and marginally less rage, she sank back down on her barstool and put her head in her hands. "Fuck. Flying fucknuggets. I hate this shit."

Still, the manifestation of her power remained silent. She kicked at the island, weakly. "Fuck this shit. Just...fuck it." She looked up at him through her fingers. "Well? Why aren't you saying anything?"

He just peered over his mug at her. Finally, he let out a breath and set down the mug of tea, pulling off his glasses and cleaning them with the hem of his robe. "Sometimes, you need to have a breakdown. And swearing, screaming, and punching a hole in the wall definitely qualify."

Maera gave him a deadpan look. "I _normally_ punch holes in walls." Jace had even framed one she'd left at his place, for shits and giggles. It had been made purely by accident, but the look on Gideon's face when she had had gotten everyone dying of the giggles.

"Not like that. _That_ was all the things you _were_ bottling up." He replaced his glasses. "Though seeing the damage you did to your _fist_ at the same time, it might not be a bad idea to invest in a punching bag..."

Maera looked sheepishly at the hole and dents in the wall, then at her bloodied knuckles. She felt her ears reddening. "Um. Oops."

"Don't apologize. Gimme your hand." She obliged. "Damage to the wall and your hand notwithstanding, you feel better, right?"

Maera nodded as the young man examined her hand. "Yeah. Like I just got done killing a bunch of shit in a video game."

He grunted, eyes glowing blue. "Well, you certainly killed the shit out of the _wall._ " Maera felt a coolness creep over her hand as the magic healed the damage. "And I'll bet that that's the first time you've felt like that since the Amonkhet fiasco."

Maera opened her mouth to reply, but then closed it. Then thought about it. He wasn't wrong...and it wasn't just because she hadn't played any video games since landing on Etrides either.

Blowing shit up in video games didn't do a whole lot when the frustration was directed at _yourself._ Even if the bulk of the rage is for certain dragons with ego issues.

Ah, the bottling up of self-doubt and rage. If Maera needed any more proof that there was English in her, that was it. _Emotional constipation, thy name is Maera._

She watched the wounds heal from her companion's spell. "I hope I didn't kill a few neurons while I was wailing on the wall."

"Doubt it." He let go of her hand, and the woman flexed her fingers and fist. No soreness, and not even a scar or bruise left from the wall-punching. "Those'll close up, and the wall shouldn't be any worse for wear. This place can take more abuse than you think."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience."

"Because I am." He fiddled with his mug again, and gave her a gimlet glare. "You do the English proud with your case of emotional constipation."

Maera snorted. "You're funny." She drained the last of her tea, then cocked her head quizzically. "You hear that?"

His brow furrowed as he quirked a confused eyebrow. "Hear what?"

"The storm it's..." Thunder rumbled, but it wasn't as loud this time. Quieter, muffled...as if it were at a distance. No lightning came, and the only sound was the rain hitting the windows. "It's calmer."

Her companion let out a sound somewhere between a grunt and a chuckle. "So it is." Another soft, distant rumble of thunder. The storm wasn't completely over, but it wasn't threatening to blow over the house like it had been earlier. "Still got a ways to go though."

Maera frowned, draining the last of her tea. She scowled at the empty cup, offended at it. "Don't know where to start, though. Withthe... _rest._ "

"Perhaps you should start by asking my name."

Maera paused as she reached for the teapot, to refill her cup. _That's right. I never did._ "You never told me."

He shrugged, expression mild. He pushed his glasses up his nose, another _very_ Maera-esque affectation. "You never asked."

Maera nodded slowly as she refilled her mug. She raised an eyebrow, then refilled her new friend's at his nod. Deliberately, she put down the teapot. "Well, I'm asking now. What's your name?"

He smiled, sitting back on his stool. "It's about time." He said, crossing his arms.

"Call me _Taibhse."_

* * *

 **For those curious, the name Taibhse is Scots Gaelic for "Ghost". It's a bit of a sideways reference to Ghost in the Shell, another favorite anime of mine. For her, her whispering 'ghost' is this guy.**

 **In any case, expect another chapter to come in the next week or so, partly out of apology for the long wait...and partly because the bitter cold I've been having 'fun' experiencing has done wonders to getting editing done.**

 **Keep reading, everyone!**


	12. Kicking Down the Door

**The usual thanks go out to our readers, including the usual to AGM for their review.**

 **And a particularly _special_ thank-you to my friend, both IRL and on here, for letting me use her character Dione Desidenius. For more on her, I refer you to her Dragonborn Epic series.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Magic: the Gathering or anything else by Wizards of the Coast. I just created Etrides and the characters in here for my own amusement.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve**

 **Kicking Down the Door**

 **Maera** opened her eyes, pulling herself out of the meditation and back to the present. She didn't _feel_ very different, but she instinctively _knew_ that something was. Not back to normal, not quite...but not as wrong as before.

She reached out with her senses, feeling for the mana around her. She found it, and rather than burning it came at her call, coming easily to her will. No, not that... _eagerly,_ as if it was _asking_ to be used. She didn't hear it, but inside Maera was certain that Taibhse was snickering with that shit-eating grin of his. _Asshole._ She thought. _Just like me. Makes sense, I guess._

 _Eh. Well, I never have bothered making myself out to be anything else. Being an asshole is soooo much more fun than being one of those lawful-good types._

Maera uncrossed her legs, groaning as pins and needles erupted from her hips to her toes. Damn, she'd been sitting in that position for so long that her legs had fallen asleep. She checked her watch, and nearly choked when she saw that almost _ten hours_ had passed since she sat down.

 _It did not feel that long in my inner world. Da eff?_

 _'That's probably because time in your head feels a lot different than in the outside world. You know, the whole "time flies when you're having fun" saying?'_

Maera rolled her eyes. _Whatever_ , she thought back at him, grunting as she rose. She stumbled as she stood, her legs still waking up. She planted the staff— _her_ staff—to support her weight as circulation finished returning to her legs.

She glanced down at the stump of her shoulder, thinking. _I wonder if..._

Almost faster than the thought crossed her brain, the spell jumped to her mind. Pure mana poured from the stump, forming itself into an arm made of pure magic. It looked like living crystal, and felt as natural as if it were made of flesh and blood...no, more so. She raised the magically-created right arm, flexing the fingers and studying it. It was a _perfect_ replica of her natural arm, right down to the fingerprints and nails. When she moved her fingers, she could even see tendons moving under the blue-green, gossamer-like skin.

She just _stared_ at the magical construct. The mana that made it up hadn't simply come at her call...it was as if it had been _waiting_ to be put to use. The casting was as effortless as _thinking._ Or _breathing._

 _So. Is this what Allandir meant when he said I was just scratching the surface of my abilities?_

Well, if it was, Maera was one hundred percent on board. She grinned, a cackle bubbling its way up. _This_ was even better than before. Her ability to draw mana and cast spells was back to normal, and _then_ some.

 _I can live with that._

She picked her phone up out of the alcove and flipped it in the air once, before catching it and dropping it into her pants pocket. She grabbed her jacket off its hook and slung it over her shoulder, the staff in her new right arm.

 _Time to start kicking down some doors._

 **-XXX-**

 **T** he blindfold fell from Zachar's eyes. He winced a the bright light hurt his eyes.

Once his eyes adjusted, a lump jumped to his throat. He forced it down, willing himself to ignore the fear. The cuffs still bound his wrists, and the aether-damping collar was still around his neck. He was already putting he spell together in his head, so that he could let it off the moment the collar was removed.

He wouldn't have much tie to do so, before the rest of the Hive poured into his head. Not a very big window.

Thankfully, he wouldn't _need_ a very big window to start the cascade. Just a second...and he'd be able to trigger the simple, destructive spell he had built up. All that he needed was for the aether to flood in and fry the chip that would be in his brain, and the brains of the rest of the Hive along with it.

Sure, he'd be brain dead. But so would be ones calling the shots of the Inquisitorium. That was good enough for him.

 _I'm going to take you bastards down with me._

He let himself be led to the operating room in the medical facility. He didn't struggle as they strapped him own to the table in the center of the OR, despite his instincts screaming at him to kick, scream, punch, and do anything possible to get away. Or get a blaster bolt through the head, rather than absorbed into the hive-mind of the darkest organization in the galaxy.

It wouldn't do him, or anyone else, any good if he was killed doing something he already knew was futile.

Still, his breath hitched in his throat as the magnetic cuffs were separated, only to be reactivated to secure his wrists to the sides of the operating table. Automatically, restrains bound his forearms, legs, thighs, and chest to the device.

He took several deep breaths to calm his nerves. It didn't do much, but at least it was better than screaming.

"It's good to know you took my advice." Sonna said from the doorway. "At least this way, you won't be in pain."

Zachar blinked at her. "Believe it or not, I'm _not_ an idiot."

Sonna merely shook her head. "If that had been the case, you wouldn't have tried running in the first place." She turned her attention to the surgeon. "Notify me when you're done."

Zachar didn't see the surgeon's response, but apparently Sonna was satisfied because she left. The surgeon—a gaunt elf with a shaved head—came into his vision. He pulled a hoversled—presumably with his instruments over—before adjusting something on the table. The thing rotated as the gaunt elf spoke. "It's been a long time since I last saw you, young man." He paused. "Of course, back then it was young _woman_."

The table halted, and Zachar was facing the floor. He shot the old elf as withering a glower as he could muster. "I've _never_ been a woman."

The man hummed. "Your birth records disagree." He flipped a switch, and Zachar could hear the whir of a hypodermic coming to life. "Just keep still, and close your eyes. The anesthesia won't take long to take effect."

Zachar didn't reply. He closed his eyes and evened his breathing as the hypodermic entered his upper arm, injecting the sedative.

Like the doctor had promised, moments later he was out like a light.

 **-XXX-**

" **T** hese here should let me keep an eye on your vitals." Tone said as they secured the band around Maera's upper arm—the left one, the one with the pulse. "It's also got a panic button built in. If thins go too hairy, press this—" they indicated what looked to be a fingerprint scanner, "—and _Sleipnir_ will teleport you back aboard."

" _Which, I should point out, is a fairly new system. It hasn't had a chance to be tested yet, so I have no idea if it'll work."_ The AI added. _"Grim decided to have that little upgrade added while my engines were being repaired from the pirate fiasco, but there hadn't been chance o get any tests run to make sure the magitech was working right before he was kidnapped. So don't be surprised if I can't pull you back if you hit the panic button."_

"Noted." Maera replied, examining the cuff. It looked like the sleeve Grimoire always wore, the one that had his personal computer—she assumed—housed in it. The others had matching cuffs, as well as magitech armor suits underneath their clothes, and each of them were wearing an earpiece that would allow them to communicate with each other, as well as with Tone and _Sleipnir._ Maera had a slightly different model, one that hooked over her glasses where it would project a HUD.

Everyone except Tone was going into the base, the aetherborn having opted to stay aboard so they could keep an eye on everyone's vitals and locations. And so that there'd be someone left to operate _Sleipnir_ 's weapons if they were found. The ship itself was going to have most of its focus on their life signs and keeping a teleporter lock on them, via the earpieces they wore and the wristbands Tone had given them.

"You sure the cloak will hold?"

Tone nodded, but _Sleipnir_ was the one who spoke. _"Of course. That circuitry was one of the few things that didn't' get fried to badly when we were yanked out of FTL."_ The AI's tone was offended. _"Grimoire's been casting illusions over my hull for years, so it wasn't hard to adjust to your magical signature. It'll take literally no power to maintain it, trust me."_

"And even if he can't, I can pull from my own reserves." Tone added. "Now, get on the pad. _Sleipnir,_ time to take your new teleporter for a run."

"You sure that fake moon's the right place?" Dione asked as she checked her gear. The dunmer was effectively wearing _two_ layers of armor; the magitech bodysuit underneath her Nightingale armor. Her sword and thieves' tools were around her waist with her bow and arrows slung over her shoulder. Tone had scoffed at the sword and bow, but a glare from the dark elf had silenced the aetherborn.

Rill was standing with his arms crossed, the ever-present scowl on his face. Maera thought the kor looked like a sci-fi ninja; the armor suit fit his lean frame like a glove, and the black of it made his white skin stand out even more starkly. His hair was pulled into a low til in back to keep it out of the way, and the black gloves he wore were fingerless. He had a pair of wooden fighting sticks strapped to his belt, but apart from that he was unarmed.

Szodree had his mage robes over his armor, the collar peeking out from under his unbuttoned tunic. His adamanteum bastard sword was slung on his back, the House Wyndal visible on the hilt peeking over his shoulder. He leaned against the bulkhead, appearing asleep when Maera _knew_ the drow was wide awake. Like Rill, Szord's arms were crossed, holding the adamanteum staff that matched his sword. His white dreadlocks were pulled back in his customary ponytail.

Nasala was wearing a loose tunic over her bodysuit, as well as a backpack slung over her shoulders. The kor woman held a black bandanna tied around her hair, as much to keep it out of the way as to make it harder to spot. Her black gloves had circuitry and runes stitched into the cloth, making Maera wonder if she was going in as a rescue or as an arcane hacker. She had a blaster strapped to her thigh.

X'vir just wore the armor and had a, well...basically a freaking blaster cannon. The giant weapon looked way to big for the small, lavender-skinned, green-haired, big-eared, fluffy-tailed alien, but the Azeran was holding it easily. He was busy adjusting his earpiece so it sat comfortably over his oversized, catlike ears.

Finally, there was Ganneth. The minotaur had a set of big, heavy boots on his hooved feet and had a jacket that was cropped in the front, long in back over his bodysuit. He had two blasters belted to his waist, and what Maera assumed was a sniper rifle slung over his shoulder. His headset was also a bit different from the others', likely act as a scope fro his rifle as well as a regular HUD.

Maera was pulling her long, brown hair back into a tight ponytail. The only difference her magitech suit had from the others' was the fact that it lacked a right sleeve, leaving the solid-magic arm free and despite the fact that it was skin-tight, it wasn't uncomfortable at all. She wore a pair of tall, heeled with hers and a black leather glove over her left hand. Strapped to her waist was a belt that held her katana and wakizashi on one hip, a blaster on the other, and a pouch at the small of her back held a collection of throwing stars she'd out of paper and inscribed with runes for a... _surprise_ , for whoever she threw them at. The different colors made them easy to tell apart, and each color meant a different effect.

Calling her a walking armory was...not wrong.

"You're certain you're up to this?"

Maera gave the cranky kor a nod. "More than ready." She said, standing. She grabbed the long, hooded coat hanging on the back of her chair ad pulled it on. It was bright blue, had a deep hood that hid her features, was sleeveless ad swept the ground around her ankles. She fastened the wide belt at the thing's waist and picked up her staff from where it was leaning against the bulkhead, striding to the small transporter platform.

Tone turned back to the controls. "I'll only be able to teleport you in twos," they said. "So I'd suggest casting some illusions once you get there so you're not detected right away."

"Got it." Maera stepped onto the platform, followed by X'vir. She nodded to the aetherborn that she was ready and pulled her hood up. "Let's go kick down their front door, shall we?"

 **-XXX-**

 **N** asala waved them forward. She'd been able to hack into the outer layers of security easily, and the doors swished open without a sound. Keeping the illusion up, Maera let the other go first before passing through herself. Nasala brought up the rear, disconnecting the thin wires fro the wall console.

" _It's going to be harder from here on,"_ the kor woman whispered. Maera and the others heard her voice clearly in the headset, though it was quiet enough to go undetected to anyone listening. _"We'll do best to move fast and avoid fighting where possible. Then once we've go Z—Grimoire, we'll have to haul ass outta here."_

Maera nodded. _"Hauling ass is something I'm far better at than I should be._ " Rill grumbled over the connection.

"You talking about putting up with Dane?"

A loud snort. _"More like your insane ass."_

" _Let's just get moving. Before someone comes along and spots us."_ Ganneth paused, paying attention to something on his HUD. _"Speaking of, if we_ _don't_ _move our asses we'll have company."_

"Noted," Maera cast out her senses, searching for the familiar arcane presence that was Grimoire. She hadn't known the guy for long, but she already considered him part of her friend group. She frowned, as she didn't sense him...or anything else. In fact, there was a _giant_ gap farther in, where she couldn't feel _any_ magical presences. _I'll bet they're shielded from any spells in the center._ "Tone, _Sleipnir_ , can you still hear me?"

" _Loud and clear hon,"_ the aetherborn replied. _"Don't tell me you've already run into trouble."_

"No. There's a big blank spot farther in. _Sleipnir,_ you know what that is?"

" _It's likely where the central command of the complex is. You'll have to fight your way past several layers of digital, arcane, and physical security. If Grim's being kept anywhere, it's there."_

Maera nodded. "Right. Guys," she addressed the rest of the group. "Get ready to split up. If there's multiple parties causing as much chaos as possible, it'll split these guys' attention all over the base."

" _There's no guarantee that'll make it easier on us,"_ Dione pointed out. _"If these people are as organized as well as your new friends say they are, they're probably going to expect that and act accordingly."_

" _They're also pretentious assholes who think they've got the galaxy's best interests at heart, to hell with what anyone who calls them on their bullshit thinks."_ Tone pointed out. _"They'll just treat your infiltration as they would a pest problem, because only someone who's an utter idiot would try and take them down by breaking down their front door."_

" _I'm sorry, but isn't that exactly what we're ding?"_ That was Rill again, exasperation dripping from his voice.

" _Well, yes. Bu that still doesn't nullify the fact that they're pretentious assholes, and who knows? Running up to their front door and setting off a giant bomb in their face might just use that against them."_

Dione hissed. _"They sound like the Thalmor. Pretentious, self-righteous bastards..."_

" _Um, who're the Thalmor?"_

"A bunch of self-righteous high elf nazis who think they're better than all the other races because they're _high elves."_ Maera replied, rolling her eyes. "And they've been trying to impose _their_ beliefs on Dione's home _and_ wipe out at least one _other_ race of elves there, just to get their dumb point across."

" _Sounds like they'd get along great with the Inquisitorium."_

"They probably would." Maera turned to the others. "So, splitting up it is?"

" _It's a closest thing to a plan we've got."_ X'vir chirped. _"Sleipnir should be able to keep our signal even through any shielding."_

" _It might get fuzzy, though. So do try and do this quick, all right? I don't want to be stuck with my proverbial thumbs tied if any o you lunatics get into a bind and I can't pull you out."_

"I'll keep that in mind." Maera laid a hand on Icefire's hilt. "We'll go in twos, then. Szordree, you stick with Dione and Rill. Ganneth, you're with Nasala. X'vir, you come with me."

" _Uh, no."_ Dione piped up as the others made sounds of assent. _"Someone that small with a gun that big is setting off my lunatic alarms, and having fought with you before I know how insane you are. There is no way in Oblivion you two should be left unsupervised."_

" _I'll go with them."_ Rill said before Maera or the little Azeran could argue. _"You can handle Szordree, right?"_

" _Hey! I take offense to that!"_ The drow in question protested.

" _Yes."_ Dione replied at the same time. _"I work with Bels on a daily basis, and I run a guild full of thieves who are about as mature as your average ten-year-old. Keeping one pyromaniac dark elf with authority problems from blowing himself up is well within my repertoire."_

" _I can hear you." _Szordree grumbled morosely.

" _Let's just get going before we're noticed and worry about potential explosions later."_ Nasala said. _"Ganneth's right; we'll be noticed before long. Hell, the fact that we've gone this long without meeting someone bothers me. Best to split up now and met up when we've got Grim."_

Sounds of assent came over the collective commlink. Without a word they split into their three teams, all heading on different routes into the center of the headquarters.

Maera activated the tracker on her HUD, showing where the others were in the fortress. She kept pace with Rill, continuing to prod around the arcane shielding around the center of the Inquisitorium's HQ. Their fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants approach to rescuing their friend was a familiar one, one that Maera had doe several times before with different combinations of companions.

A grim, determined smile spread across her face.

 _Once more unto the breach._

* * *

 **In answer to the inevitable question: yes, Maera is insane. This is far from the first crazy-ass, stupid thing she's done before. Running headlong into enemy strongholds is kind of a bad habit of hers.**

 **Keep reading, everyone!**

 **~Hikari Hellspawn**


	13. It's a Trap

**Hot damn I'm on a roll getting these suckers posted. No idea how long it's gonna last, but I'm going to ride this editing-wave for as long as I can X'D.**

 **The usual thanks to everyone, including AGM for the review and GamerDragon13 for letting me borrow Dione.**

 **I do not own M:tG or anything else by Wizards of the Coast. Or any other references you see in here. I just like causing chaos.**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen**

 **It's a Trap**

" **I** was halfway hoping they _wouldn't_ take the bait. This is too easy." Evran sighed, setting down his coffee. "If this woman really is a _plane walker_ , she doesn't seem very bright."

"You're only saying that because she broke your face." Sonna sighed. "Besides, it's likely at least some of her companions are like her and Zachar. If we capture them, it will go a long way towards understanding what this Spark is, and how best to neutralize it."

Evran grunted. He tapped his finger against his bicep, fidgety. Zachar Urin, his former apprentice and—even the seasoned Inquisitorium agent admitted it—skilled assassin and technomage was the latest inductee into the Hive. He glanced to his side, where the vedalken in question was standing, motionless; he wore the long, high-collared coat of the rest of the Hive, his arms folded behind his back. Evran wasn't even sure if Zachar was his _name_ anymore, though he hadn't given any indication otherwise and didn't argue when they addressed him as such.

But when the vedalken _did_ speak, it was clear that it wasn't just Zachar anymore. When Zachar spoke, the entire Hive spoke. He now had access to anything that any other member of the Hive thanks to the chip in his brain, as well as his own experience as a plane walker.

Which was why he had told them to simply to let this woman, this Maera Hellion, come running in through their front door, guns blazing. She had, and with several allies; Zachar had pointed out three of them as former allies of his, though he didn't recognize he others.

He _did_ feel three _new_ Sparks, however. Or at least, said he did. Which was why he had directed them not to adjust their plan, simply keep the employees on their usual rounds and not chance their security. And so, now they were watching three teams on three different monitors, observing their progress so they could act accordingly.

Whenever the hell _that_ would be.

"Do you have additional security forces on standby?"

"Yes, sir." Sonna replied. "Several teams throughout the headquarters."

"Good. Give them the order now." A brief pause. "And be ready to take down the dampening field on our order."

The woman paused. "Z—Sir? Why?"

"We will confront Maera Hellion." The vedalken replied. "Zachar Urin is familiar with her, so we know a good deal about her. She will be unwilling to fight one she views as a friend."

Evran eyed the vedalken out of the corner of his eye. "Are you sure?"

"We are positive." He closed his eyes and tilted his head back slightly, as if calling forth an old memory. Or sensing for a magical presence...Evran himself ha very little talent with spells, though he had enough skill to be able to handle enchanted items. "The impressions Mister Urin has of her are those of a brash individual who is extremely protect of those she deems 'friend'. Often to her detriment."

Evran grunted again. "Yes, she _did_ lose it when we took Mister Urin into custody."

Zachar didn't reply. Simply opened his eyes and strode towards the exit. "We will be waiting where planned. If possible, direct her towards there. If not, let us know and we will adjust accordingly."

"Yes, sir." Sonna replied, before giving the the order to the soldiers lying in wait.

"Agent Tarokis." Evran almost started as he was addressed. Almost.

"Sir?"

"We wish you to accompany us. As skilled as the troops are, they will be of little help against two Planeswalkers. If it does indeed come to a two-on-two battle, we believe it would be beneficial if you were there as backup."

Evran's mouth went into a thin line. Hive or not, he was still _not_ comfortable bowing to the authority of someone who was young enough to be his son. Or daughter, or whatever gender the vedalken was going by now. Still, he kept the discomfort to the back of his mind and bowed his head. "Of course."

Zachar hummed. "Thank you, Agent Tarokis." He left the room. "We will be waiting at the planned location."

Evran nodded and left to change into something more...practical. As sharp as the high-collared leather coat and shiny shoes were, neither would be particularly helpful in a fight, and both would stand out far more than he was used to in battle. He didn't like it, but he would do his duty to protect a member of the Hive.

He checked his wrist chrono. It was barely half an hour since the plane walkers' poorly-planned assault began.

 _Why are there still so many idiots in the universe...?_

 **-XXX-**

 **Z** achar was lost, fighting to maintain control of himself while the mass of the hive-mind reached into his head and pried apart his memories, absorbing them one by one.

It _hurt._

He wanted to give up, to let the things that made up his being become one with the Hive. But he couldn't. He couldn't remember _why,_ all he knew was that he _couldn't let that happen._ That he had to do _something_ , had to do _anything_ to prevent these people from falling to the Inquisitorium.

He didn't know why he believed he should care about these few, insignificant people. Why he should prioritize these tiny beings more than the millions—no, billions... _trillions_ of others, but he did.

And he didn't want to see them hurt. Ever.

He had to do _something_. But he didn't know what. Already the knowledge of what they were—or some of them, at least—had been absorbed into the Hive. They knew that the brunette, staff-carrying woman with the shining arm (she shouldn't have that arm. He didn't know why he thought that, though) was a Planeswalker. They knew what the Spark was, what it felt like because _he_ knew what it felt like. He still felt _his_ Spark burning bright within him.

It was why he was still Zachar Urin. Why he hadn't been sucked into the maw that was the collective consciousness of the Hive. He hung onto that for dear life. Despite the fact that his mind was in _agony_ , he hung on.

 _I am Zachar. I am male. I am a Planeswalker. I have a Spark. I care for these people. I will not let them fall._

It was a fight in his own brain between himself, and the mass of the Hive. And he was _losing_.

When the Hive spoke through him, using the knowledge they had pulled from _his mind_ to lay this trap, he wanted to scream. He wanted to scream and rage and pull out his daggers and plunge them into the throat of the nearest Inquisitorium agent, but he couldn't because he didn't have control of his own body. And he had no idea how to get it back.

All he knew was that somehow, some _way_ , he had to push back the Hie for long enough to tell his friends to _run_ , to just blow the core of the base up with him on it. He was losing the battle for his individuality anyway, so it wasn't a loss to him.

 _Just don't let these people be taken in. I care for them. I cannot let them be hurt._

The voices of the Hive go louder. His headache got worse.

 _I must do something._

 _But I can't. I'm trapped in my own mind. How do I do something to help these people?_

Against his will, his hand raised and activated a spell. It was a beacon, one that would undoubtedly attract these allies of his. These friends he had to protect. These friends the Inquisitorium was going to capture.

These new allies he hadn't met, but knew would die for him. Because _that woman_ was his friend and coming for him.

 _Maera. Her name is Maera. She is a Planeswalker. She is your friend._

A memory. A memory of a name. Mentally gritting his teeth, he latched onto it. He felt the whispers of his _own_ memories, calling out to him as well, the names of the rest of the people coming to their doom. But he couldn't make them out; their faces came to mid, though. Alabaster skin and hair. Beastlike face and horns. Huge ears and green hair and small size. He knew these people. He would not see them hurt.

He curled his mind into a defensive ball, steeling what was left of Zachar against the tide of the Hive. He could not let himself be subsumed, not yet. Not until he had done _something_ to save these people's lives. Not until he had done _something_ to wound the Inquisitorium.

The hate bubbled up too, fighting through the ocean of the hive-mind, working its way into his own. He used it as mental armor to protect himself as much as he could.

 _I will save you. All of you. I couldn't take down the Hive earlier..._

 _I just have to stay me for long enough to let one of you know what to do._

 **-XXX-**

" _ **F** IRE IN THE HOLE!"_

Maera ducked back behind her corner. Moments later, the explosion echoed down the hall. She pulled her fingers out of her ears and blinked the shock away. "Yeesh. The number of grenades that little guy has is a mite disturbing."

" _Now who else does that remind me of?"_

Maera blew a raspberry into the comm at Dione's comment. "I'm not as bad as this little shit."

" _No, you're not. You're worse."_

"Oy!"

" _Rill, back me up. Is Maera not worse than X'vir?"_

The kor first replied with a grunt, accompanied by the wet _crunch_ of breaking bone. _"She's a walking apocalypse."_

"I can hear you guys!"

" _And none of us care!"_

Maera blew another raspberry into the link before shooting back out of cover, towards the direction of the concussion. One of the dazed guards had enough time to get a bleary blink in before her elbow smashed into his face.

He went down with a satisfying _thud._ He didn't look like he was getting back up.

She heard the _click_ of a blaster behind her. Maera pivoted, drawing her sword and swinging it up and across in one smooth motion. The barrel of he blaster fell to the ground with a clatter. Maera grinned at the man's open-mouthed look of surprise.

Right before her fist plowed into his face. He joined the first goon on the ground for naptime.

Maera switched her sword to a two-handed grip, scanning around for any more goons. The hall was empty, save for herself, Rill, X'vir (who looked like a kid in a candy store, with the giant-ass grin on his face), and about a dozen unconscious guards in light armor.

She didn't relax. She kept on the balls of her feet, waiting for the next round.

It didn't come.

Maera lowered her blade, letting out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding as she sheathed Icefire. "Well. That was quick."

Rill grunted as he came up beside her. "They knew we were here."

Maera nodded, surveying the chaos. "I stinks, and it's got nothing to do with the beans last night." She muttered, idly kicking at one unconscious goon. He let out a low moan, but didn't wake. "At the risk of sounding like a certain fictional admiral, it's a trap."

"Certainly looks like one." The kor agreed, crossing his arms. X'vir joined them the...Maera called it a cannon, but the Azeran called it his 'sidearm', slung over his shoulder. Rill eyed the little guy. "There is something broken in you, X'vir. Even more than _this_ one." He jabbed his thumb at Maera.

Maera replied with a middle finger. Rill ignored it.

X'vir shrugged. "I grew up with the adage of 'if you can't do it right, then don't do it at all'." He replied. "And, 'there's no such thing as overkill'."

Rill's eye twitched. Maera blinked at the Azeran before formulating a reply. "You are one strange, disturbing little man."

X'vir grinned at her. "Hey, sometimes the best solution to a problem is just to blow a big-ass hole in the door. He dropped the grin. "But I agree; this shit stinks, and it ain't from a blocked toilet. We were set up."

Maera grunted. She hovered her gaze over the minimap in her HUD, and it enlarged to show the entire complex. Or at least, what hey knew of it. She and her allies were highlighted in bright blue, where the goons were marked out in neon green. "We're not far from where we're headed. But there's a lot of goons between us and there."

"Then let's get going." Rill started off down the hall, in the direction that would lead them to the central hub. "If you still want your friend out of this place, that is."

"Right." She dismissed he map, following Rill. X'vir brought up the rear. Again, the half-fae extended her senses, but she still couldn't pick up anything other than hers and the rest of their group. _I know this organization has casters. They've got to, if magic is as prevalent on this plane as I've been led to believe. It doesn't make sense if they don't._ She thought as they ventured deeper into the complex. And the deeper they went, the more goons they had to dodge. _Grimoire's a spellcaster. A hacker and a spellcaster. Tone's a healer, and I don't even know what skills Nasala and Ganneth have._

 _The only way I can think of is that the spellcasters here are all hiding their presences._ She frowned. _As I the sudden appearance of a small army of goons didn't scream 'it's a trap' loudly enough._

The sound of blasterfire and screaming over the headset started Maera out of her musing, and she almost jumped and ran into Rill. _"Shit! Dammit! Motherfuck!"_ She heard Szordree snarling. _"They've got fucking warlocks, people! Mother fucking, archmage-level warlocks! I don't want to know what sort of being gave 'em this amount of—"_

The grating squeal of feedback interrupted the dark elf's rant, and Maera swore as the sound hurt her ear. She yanked the set out, massaging the offended ear. "Dammit!"

Upon hearing oaths in both kor and Azeran, she looked up and saw the other two having the same experience. Maera checked o make sure the earpiece wasn't squealing anymore before replacing it. "Hey, what happened? You mind repeating that, Szord?" Static was her reply. She tapped the piece. "Dione, you there? Can anybody hear me?!" Again, all she heard was static. Growling in frustration, Maera slammed her fist into the nearest wall. "Gods _damn_ it!"

"Jamming frequency. We've lost contact with the others." X'vir said, his earpiece already back in place and frowning as he scrutinized his HUD. "I'll bet they can't hear us, either."

"What about the ship?" Rill asked, slipping his weapons back out of their holsters on his belt

X'vir's frown deepened as he shrugged. "It's a good bet ha if we can' hear the others, then _Sleipnir_ can't hear us either." He replied. "Which means that we'll have to get back to the ship on our own. Or at least until Tone manages some workaround."

"How good are they with this sort of thing." X'vir's ears twitched. His hand went to his weapon faster than Maera blinked. "Someone's coming. Someone strong."

Maera's brows knitted in confusion, but her hand went to her sword out of reflex. She scanned the hall, looking for possible exits in case things got hairier. Or for possible places a new enemy could show up. They were alone in the hall.

That's when the newcomer's presence hit her like a ton of bricks.

It felt like she'd been dunked into an ice bath, only to very promptly smash face-first against a wall. Whoever it was had to be ridiculously strong, because it felt like a lead weight was being pressed against Maera's chest. The new presence was _heavy_ , more than the average arcane bruiser.

She didn't feel a Spark in this presence, but that didn't mean the owner wasn't hiding it.

If they were, Maera did _not_ want to meet them.

She also did _not_ want them to follow her if she did, indeed, end up having to bail. Which was another hing she'd rather not do, not with several non-'walkers in their party.

Still, the sudden appearance of he overbearing presence confirmed a suspicion; that the spellcasters of the Inquisitorium were indeed hiding their presences. If they weren't, she'd have felt this guy _long_ before now.

Maera made sure Icefire and Black Ice were clear in their sheaths as she stood back-to-back with the two men. She scanned the hall, trying to pinpoint the source of the presence. The ethereal "weight" was so strong that it was an almost uniform feeling as far out as her senses could extend, and if the culprit _was_ in the hall they were either carrying a personal cloak or using an invisibility spell.

She tightened her left hand on Icefire. With her right, she slowly, carefully drew her blaster. She'd lose the advantage of surprise after the first or second shot, but with any luck that's all it would take to immobilize their newcomer. For a while, at least.

Long enough for her to get a spell off, Rill to close in, or X'vir to charge his portable cannon.

She spotted the humanoid-sized shimmer in the air, an took aim at it with the blaster. Maera rested her finger on he trigger with just the slightest featherweight, ready to let off the shot once the newcomer was visible.

When they were, she almost dropped the weapon in surprise.

" _Grimoire?!"_

* * *

 **Aaannnnnd the penny drops. Things are getting a little hairy for the crew, but that's something to be concluded in the next chapter. Until then, keep reading y'all!**

 **~Hikari Hellspawn**


	14. No Such Thing as Impossible

**As always, thanks for your reads, faves, follows, and reviews ^^.**

 **Disclaimer: The ushe-if you recognize it, I don't own it. Etrides is just my way of being a giant freaking nerd in an already-nerdy fandom.**

* * *

 **Chapter Fourteen**

 **No Such Thing as Impossible**

" _ **Grimoire?!"**_

Maera's mouth hung open. She nearly dropped her blaster when the tall, lanky vedalken came into view. Her heart leapt when she say he was unharmed, and very much alive.

Her cynicism followed up quickly, pointing out that the fact that he'd just showed up out of nowhere was a bad sign. That, and the fact that he was currently wearing very different clothes than before.

And indeed, they were _not_ the leather jacket, combat boots and cargo pants that she was used to. Instead, Grim was wearing expensive-looking black trousers, shiny black shoes, and a long, high-collared coat with zippers at the cuffs to his sleeves and the hem reaching to his heels. On his hands he had black gloves with a pattern stitched into them, but he was to far away for Maera to make out more than the glint of metallic thread. His hair was in the same braidhawk as before, but it was his stance that was setting off alarm bells in her head.

He was still. Too still; he looked like a statue. Maera had seen the vedalken stand like this before, but it was nothing like now. It was...unnatural. _Too_ unnatural for anyone still with a pulse.

The hairs on the back of her neck were on end. This was _not right._

 _Just once I'd like for hings to go easy. A quick, in-and-out rescue, no curveballs. Just once._

"You are Maera Hellion."

Chills ran down the back of her neck at the sound of his voice. I was Grimoire's all right, but it was...flat. It sounded less like her companion for the last month and more like a robot speaking with his voice. The nasty thought that she'd been trying to quash since he dropped his invisibility wormed its way to the front of her mind.

 _They did something to him. The bastards did something to him._

"I'm assuming that's Grimoire?" Rill whispered in her ear, barely turning his head. Maera nodded. "He doesn't look very happy to see us."

Maera shook her head. Her hand tightened on her gun, though the barrel trembled. "Who are you?" _Please don't be Grimoire. Please don't be Grimoire. Please let this be a ruse. Please don't be..._

He cocked his head. "We are the Hive." He replied in that same creepily flat voice. "Though we assume you mean this individual. We believe you know him by the name 'Grimoire'."

A cold stone settled in the pit of Maera's stomach. She'd been hoping she was wrong. _The Hive...what the fuck is the Hive?_

 _Pfeh. Doesn't matter. Whatever it or they are I'll deal with._ "And you're using Grimoire as a mouthpiece, aren't you? Well, let him go."

"It isn't that simple," X'vir hissed. "The Hive's a...well, a hive-mind." Maera felt him shrug. "It's self-explanatory."

"So you're saying Grim's part of that hive mind."

"...Yeah. Which means we're fucked."

"Precisely." Maera's attention was returned to the man standing in front of her. "We have absorbed Zachar Urin—Grimoire, as he introduced himself to you—into our collective consciousness. His memories are now ours."

"So you brain-killed him."

"No. Zachar Urin' consciousness is still alive, as part of the Hive.

Maera gave a crooked smile to hide the chill that was expanding from her gut to the rest of her insides. "Sorry if I don't feel very relieved by that."

"We do not need you to be relieved." Grimoire—or rather, the _Hive_ speaking through him—replied. "Merely accepting of the fact."

Maera cocked her head and paused for a second. "Mmh...naw, don't think so."

Grimoire raised an eyebrow. "You are indeed tenacious."

"I prefer the term 'stubborn as hell'."

"You _do_ realize that isn't a compliment, right?"

Maera blew a raspberry at Rill. " _I_ consider it a compliment."

"Wow. And the others say Ganneth's a dug-in asshole."

Maera snorted. "Point is, I ain't gonna consider Grimoire a lost cause till I see his corpse. And from the looks of it, you're lookin' like you still got a pulse."

"That is either a remarkably determined mindset, or a foolish one." The vedalken folded his arms behind his back. "Regardless, your companion is one of the Hive now. You three will not leave."

Maera's crooked smirk turned into a shit-eating grin. "I don't think so. You're the one coming with us, Grim. Whether the Hive likes it or not."

"He's right though, Maera." X'vir whispered. She peered down at him out of the corner of her eye, and it was enough to see the tension in his face. His ears were folded back against his head, his tail drooping. "Once somebody's in the Hive, they can't be pulled back out. Not without brain damage. Even if you take the chip out of their head, there's failsafes that'll fry their brain." His eyes narrowed. "Grim...Zachar's not coming back with us.

Maera's mouth went into a thin line. "You are _not_ telling me you're giving up on one of your best friends. That's bullshit."

"It's also true." X'vir's stance shifted, and she saw him reaching for his minicannon. "My parents were doctors. They tried removing the chips form a couple people. They ended up brain dead."

"The Azeran is correct." Maera looked back to Grimoire. "Once one of the Hive, a single individual cannot be removed. We are one mind. We have access to all of the experience and memories of out constituents."

"So you know about Planeswalkers." Rill's tone was calm, but Maera could feel the tenseness in his shoulders.

"Yes."

"Then you _also_ know how badly we can fuck people up."

Grimoire paused and cocked his head, thinking. When he spoke, Maera swore she _finally_ heard some emotion in his voice. "Indeed."

"Then how's about we stop standing around chatting and get down to the business of _unplugging him from your computer!"_ Maera switched to a two-handed grip on the blaster before firing off a shot at the vedalken facing her.

Time seemed to slow down. On a logical level, she knew it was the adrenaline kicking in and causing her brain to take note of far more information than it normally would. That still didn't stop the surreal feeling that everything was moving slower. Before the blaster bolt hit, she stowed the pistol and was already starting forward, pulling Icefire from his sheath as she moved.

Without having to be told, the others moved into positions as well. X'vir sidestepped, the _pfweeeee_ of his cannon's charging ringing in her ears. Rill moved faster than Maera could track—adrenaline or no—white-silver ripples of magic cascading down his arms.

The bolt slammed into the deck right before it would have hit the vedalken, kicking up a shroud of vapor. Maera charged headlong into the smokescreen, Icefire alighting as she drew it fully from the sheath.

She was halfway through the swing when it abruptly _stopped._

Followed by a blue, six-fingered hand grabbing her face and throwing her aside.

She crashed into the wall, head smacking hard against the metal plating. Her katana fell from her hand, limp, the cold flames extinguishing. Her ears rang from the blow, and it took her a few moments to regain her senses.

Just in time to see Grimoire go toe-to-toe with Rill, the silvery mana sheathing his limbs and turning the short wooden staves into a pair of what looked like small hand sickles, attached at the ends by a chain of mana. The kor monk was wielding them expertly, moving scarily fast while Grim was keeping up pace-for-pace.

Maera gave herself a mental kick in the rear before she got _too_ mesmerized by the deadly dance. _Reason. Grab Grim. Yank him out of the Hive. Get the chip out of his head. First two should be easy enough. Might need a little help with the third._ She stood, and for a moment there was a chirp of static from her earpiece. She ignored it and retried Icefire, eyes tracking the fight to find the best place to jump back in.

The vedalken's back was turned. Maera didn't hesitate; she charged again, lighting the runes along Icefire's blade and swinging down on the vedalken's shoulder.

The blade passed right through, the hologram winking out of existence. He woman blinked, her brain not quite registering what had just happened. _What—how—?_

Again her earpiece chirped with static. Maera thought she caught part of a word, but she ignored it in favor of throwing up a ward at the sound of blasterfire. The energy blast sprayed harmlessly along the shimmering aquamarine shield, the last few sparks dissipating away. Her arm tingled, the only sort of discomfort from the casting.

 _'Careful, Maera. You don't want to blow yourself out again, not right after the storm's started calming down.'_ Taibhse's commentary came unbidden to her mind as she lowered her arm, magic still dancing around her fingertips. She glowered at the vedalken, still standing as calmly as before with his hands folded behind his back.

 _C'mon, Grimore. If the Hive isn't lying, you're still floating around in there. Gimme a sign already._ Maera thought, studying Grimoire for any sign of that cold-as-iron composure breaking. Any sign that there was one particular consciousness dominant in her friend's mind.

Nothing. If there was a crack in there somewhere, she couldn't' see it.

" _Maera!"_

Rill's bark brought her back to reality, and she dove to the side as a cerulean-bladed dagger cut through the air where her neck had just been. The blade, it turned out, wasn't metal at all; it was made of pure magic, the rune on the hilt shimmering. A matching blade came in, and she turned it aside with her katana, dancing out of reach. Right after, Rill entered the space she had left, a black-clad blur.

 _'You're gonna need more distractions than just him, you know.'_

Taibhse was right; they needed more than just Rill's fists and X'vir's cannon. Eyes glowing blue, Maera drew a set a runes in the air and muttered a spell. Several copies of her burst from her position, the real one scattering among them.

And then all of them, real and illusory, sent missiles of ice hurling towards the vedalken. Each one identical, and all but one as insubstantial as the illusory Maeras.

They shattered against the vedalken's coat. Even the real missiles did no more than smash into Grim, causing him to grunt in surprise and stumble to a knee, before crashing to the ground.

Maera shot a thumbs-up to Rill before jumping back into motion, just in time to miss a retaliatory spell. The sticky ball of goo splashed on the ground, before already beginning to dissipate.

" _Outta the way! Fire in the hole!"_

Maera was drawing her wakizashi when the Azeran called out. She quickly moved out o the way, throwing a sheet of pitch blackness between her allies and the vedalken mage. Rill rolled out of the way a half second later, right before the white-hot ball of plasma rocketed towards Grimoire's back.

Maera didn't see the result. Even with her eyes closed, the light was blinding and the roar almost deafening.

" _M...ra... co...in, Ma...ra. ...re? Are y... th...re?"_

The static in the commlink was thick, but she could still make out what sounded like words. The speaker sounded vaguely like Tone, but it was choppy from interference. "Yeah, I'm here. What 'bout the others?"

" _We...ave...m. Bein...ja...ed. Conne...tion's wea..."_ The aetherborn responded as Maera shot off a quick magic missile at where she assumed Grimoire was. _"Yo...ve tr...ble?"_

She heard the blaster bolt coming, and spun to the side. It clipped her hip, the magitech armor tingling s it absorbed the blow. She heard the exchange of several blows as she moved position. "Kinda. Fighting Grim."

" _Gri...ire? Why?!"_

Maera sliced through another bolt with Black Ice before sending several phantasms into the fray. "He's been made part of the Hive. X'vir said we're boned."

" _Yo...re. Get ou...f the...r!"_

"Not without Grim."

" _H...s g...ne."_

"That's what X'vir said. I don't believe it."

" _It's imp...ssble. H...ng on...go...ng to tr... to cl...r i...up."_

 _Sorry, Tone, but I don't believe in the word impossible._ Maera thought as she turned aside another spell, sending another of hers rocketing back before moving again. _I just need to figure out how to counter that implant without frying Grimoire in the process._

Suddenly, the darkness she had cloaking the area was blown away like leaves in a strong wind. Grimoire was standing with one hand raised, the runes on his glove softly glowing. He lowered his arm and straightened his cuff, the runes dimming. "That was...inconvenient." He said. He scanned the three of them; X'vir at the end of the hall with his minicannon ready, Rill behind the vedalken in a ready stance, and Maera with her two swords wreathed in mana. "You are not fighting to kill."

"Because we're fighting an ally." Rill pointed out. One whose body you're controlling."

" _That's better."_ The static was still thick, but Tone's voice was much easier to make out now. _"Can you hear me? Maera? Rill? X'vir?"_

" _We're here."_ Rill's voice was low, but clearly audible. More than Tone's, likely because of his comm's proximity.

" _Same."_ It was the same for X'vir, likely for the same reason.

Grimoire tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. "You have managed to bypass the jamming frequency."

 _Shit._ "What was your first clue."

"Sarcasm isn't necessary."

"It's one of my talents."

Grimoire hummed. "This fighting is pointless. Unless you fight to kill, we will subdue and defeat you."

"We're not leaving without Grim."

"We told you; Zachar Urin is one of the Hive. You will not be able to retrieve him without brain damage." He cocked his head. "Your mission is an impossible one."

Maera sheathed Icefire. Her hand went to the staff slung across her back. "I don't believe in impossible."

"Then your defeat will be painful."

"Don't think so." X'vir had a nasty smile on his face. _"Maera, get ready to grab Grim and pull the panic button."_

Maera barely had a moment to register what he'd said before another screaming, crackling blast of energy was released from the Azeran's cannon—this time heading _straight_ for Grimoire. She realized with a combination of horror and shock what he was doing. _Holy crap. He's gonna fry his own friend before we haul him back to Sleipnir. Probably hoping Tone can do something about that chip after all._

 _Won't have long, though._

Grimoire didn't move to dodge or otherwise block the blast. Instead, he simply closed his eyes and gave a small headshake before... _disappearing._

Leaving Rill right in the line of fire.

The kor's eyes widened in surprise—and, Maera thought, terror—as the ball of electricity slammed into him, the momentum carrying him to the end of the hall and slamming him against the wall. Hard. The woman was rooted to the spot as her friend and fellow 'walker hit the wall with a wet _crack_ , and crumpled with a blotch of red marring the white of his hair. A matching splat of blood marred the wall where his head had smashed against it.

Rill went down in a heap. The short staves fell from his grasp.

He didn't get back up.

 _Shit. Shit fucker, damn it to hell._ Grimoire was gone, the hologram that he'd been using as a distraction now giving her a clear view of X'vir's face. The Azeran looked horrified, staring open-mouthed at the limp kor crumpled against the wall.

"As Zachar would say, nice try."

Grimoire's form flickered back into existence behind X'vir, and the hilt of one of the daggers smashing into the base of his skull. The Azeran's eyes rolled back into his head before he, too, fell unconscious to the ground.

Grimoire turned his attention to Maera, stepping easily over X'vir's limp form. "We must admit, you were a challenge. "But I regret to inform you that your attempts to defeat us were in vain."

Maera stepped back, her mind whirling as she tried figuring a way out of this latest mess. _He's just take down your allies. You're in the middle of the main fortress of the bad guys. Yep, you're screwed._ She swallowed. _And I still don't have any idea how to disable that chip._

 _'Are you sure?'_ Taibhse piped up again. She chewed the bottom of her lip. No, she wasn't. Not at all. The spirit sighed. _'I thought not.'_

"Make this easy on yourself and surrender. I do not want to hurt you."

 _Wait a second. Did he just use the word 'I'?!_

A smile started spreading across her face. _He said 'I'. Not 'we'. That's a sign if I ever saw one._ She thought, the smile spreading into a grin. _He might have a chip in his head linking him to a hive mind, but that 'I' tells me one thing..._

Grimoire's brow furrowed at her grin. Maera just let it get wider.

 _He's still the dominant personality._

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that."

"Beg pardon?" Maera sheathed Black Ice and pushed her glasses up on her nose, planting her staff next to her feet. "I can't do that, Grim. Because I'm gonna disable that chip in your head that connects you to the Hive."

 _I don't know exactly how, but I will._

"We have already told you; that is impossible. You will be dooming your friend to brain-death."

"And _I_ told _you;_ I don't believe in impossible." Her shadow moved and twisted around her, reaching for Grimoire. "Call me an idealist, but hell or high water I'm gonna find a way to fry that chip _without_ frying your brain, Grim."

"It is impossible."

Maera gave him a shit-eating grin. _"Watch me._ " And then she burst into action.

Grimoire sidestepped her charge, eyeing her. "That was useless."

Maera replied with a smirk. "Was it, though?"

He frowned, only for his eyes to widen in surprise as living shadows wound up and around his legs, rooting him to the spot.

 _'I hope you have a plan.'_

 _Don't worry, Taibhse. I do._ Maera replied. _I'm just figuring out what it is as I go._

 _'Oh my god. You have to be kidding.'_

Grimoire tried moving his legs, frowning as they wouldn't budge. Instead, he reached out his hand and muttered a spell, lines of electric blue light arcing towards her.

Maera bent backwards, letting them zip over her face. Momentarily the HUD of her headset went to static before resetting.

She blinked. _Wait a sec. I forgot about that! Magic and tech don't like to play nice!_

The grin on her face returned as the plan fell into place so well, it almost came up with itself. _Oh, that's good. That's really good._

 _'I feel the need to point out that the technology on this plane is magically based. How can you be sure this'll work?'_

Maera straightened, and raised her hand. Sparks danced around the magical construct as the palm glowed blue. _I'm no. But it's still electronics, and no matter how well acclimated to magic, they can still fry. My phone did._

 _'I hope you know what you're doing'._

Maera didn't reply that she didn't. She was pretty sure Taibhse knew that already, anyway. Instead, she dove at the vedalken.

Apparently he'd been expecting another magical attack, as he had his wrists crossed and the runes on his gloves were shimmering. So he was understandably surprised when she grabbed on to his face. "What—"

That was as far as he got before Maera discharged the gathered mana—enough for a planeswalk—directly into his body.

He _screamed._

 **-XXX-**

" **D** ammit!" Sonna reeled back from the controls as electricity danced across them. The screens went to static, before blacking out altogether.

"What the hell is going on?!" Evran demanded, reaching for the control. He regretted it a moment later, hissing in pain as the electricity shot up his arm as well. "Don't tell me _they_ managed to jam _us!_ "

"No. It's feedback." Sonna hissed as one of the screens blew out, the glass shattering. "She... _fried_ us. It's magical feedback."

Evran stared at the woman, blank-faced. "You're _joking._ "

She shook her head. "No."

"We're talking _magitech._ It can handle the load."

"Even arcane electronics have limits. That blast exceeded ours."

" _Damn."_ Evran slammed a fist down on the console before stepping back, running his hands through his hair. "Do we have _any_ contact with anyone in that hall?"

"No."

"Damn..." He repeated, letting out a breath. "All right. Order the nearest security we _can_ contact to the section, and apprehend the four of them."

 _This is not going to be easy to explain._

 **-XXX-**

 **M** aera groaned, blinking the fuzziness away. Her vision was still blurry, and she fumbled around for her glasses.

She found them, and shoved them back on as she stood. That discharge of magic had blown her out almost as badly as it had Grimoire... She turned, and saw the vedalken on the ground, unmoving and limp. _Crap. Please tell me that worked..._

She went to him and put to fingers to his neck. There was a pulse, and she sighed in relief. _Thank the gods._ She went to tap her earpiece, only to find that the construct that was acting as her right arm was gone. Maera glanced round, and saw her staff lying not far from where she'd been thrown. _Good._

" _...ra? Maera! The hell was that?!"_ That was Tone.

Again, Maera sighed in relief. "My plan to disconnect Grim from the Hive."

A pause. _"What."_

"Long story." She stood and strode to pick up her staff. "D'you still have a lock on our lifesigns?"

" _Barely. Sleipnir's already gotten the others."_

Maera grunted. "Good. Get Rill and X'vir outta here first. They're out cold."

" _It'll have to be one at a time, but no problem. What about you and Grimoire?"_

"I'm standing next to him."

" _That doesn't help me, hon."_

Maera grimaced. "Right..." She ran her hand through her hair, the staff leaning against her shoulder. "Okay. I have an idea. It's stupid, but I'd rather have a stupid idea than get caught."

" _I already hate it, but go on."_

Maera was already unstrapping her wristband. Her right 'arm' had returned without her consciously calling for it. "I'm going to strap my panic button to Grim and activate it. I'll 'walk outta here and meet you back on the ship."

" _You can do that?"_

She shrugged. "Pretty sure." She strapped the band around the unconscious vedalken's wrist. "Pinpoint planeswalking is kinda...tricky."

" _Great. What happens if you miss?"_

"I'll still be wearing the earpiece. I'll let you know where I am...if I'm in range."

Tone grunted. _"Good luck."_

"Right." She activated the panic button, and the blue light started blinking. She felt the tingle on the back of her neck as the first of the three teleports started.

Once all three were safely away, Maera made sure she had everything and planeswalked.


	15. Interlude

**And I'm back, folks! Thanks to my readers and regulars, including AGM. Also, good to see other Legend of Drizzt and Yu-Gi-Oh fans out there X'D**

 **Anyway, have fun with a pair of drunken Planeswalkers! This can't go wrong at all...**

 **Disclaimer: The ushe. If you recognize it, I don't own it. This and all of Etrides is me having fun with the Mt:G Multiverse.**

* * *

 **Chapter Fourteen**

 **Interlude**

 **Zachar** drifted back to consciousness slowly. His head felt like it ad been in a vice, and his body felt like it was made from lead. Every breath sent lances of pain through his chest, and he could feel _every single heartbeat_ throb in time with his migraine. He didn't want to _think_ , let alone think bout what could have happened to put him in this state.

Hells...his head _hurt_. Just the act of putting together coherent _thoughts_ was painful.

What in the hells had _happened_ to him? Did someone stick his head in an FTL drive or something?

He groaned weakly, lifting a hand to rub his forehead. Or, tried to, at least. The attempt to make his muscles respond turned the dull ache in the limb into an all-out burning, so he gave up and let his arm drop back to the bed.

Bed. So _that_ was what he was lying on. _I hope I don't have to get up for the next century or two. Too damn comfortable._

Apparently his small groan hadn't gone unnoticed, as the sound of someone shifting cued him in to a companion. "Well, look who's awake. Good morning, Grim."

That voice was familiar. Zachar cracked an eye, wincing at the sudden brightness of the light. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but sure enough Tone was sitting in a chair they'd pulled up next to the vedalken's bed. Despite the stone-like dermis they had for skin, Zachar could tell they were frowning. Concerned. "...Tone?"

They nodded. "Yes, that's me. Your friendly neighborhood medic who deals with way too much bullshit from the locals that should be allowed." They dropped the jaunty tone and crossed their arms. "How're you feeling?"

Zachar replied with a weak grunt and, "Like my brain was squeezed through my nostrils and reassembled by a toddler."

Tone hummed. "Not surprising, I suppose." They replied with a shrug. "Considering how Maera, well... _fried_ your brain."

Zachar blinked at them, mouth hanging open. "She...what? ...Why?"

"Your brain. Fried it." Tone tapped their own head to illustrate their point. "Or the chip inside it, anyway. For a while we weren't sure if yo were still connected to the Hive but comatose, or if your brain had gone the way of the chip."

The vedalken blinked at them again, slowly processing the information. _Maera..._ _fried my brain_ _? Or, no, wait. She_ _fried_ _the_ _chip in my brain_ _._ He thought, ignoring the throbs of pain said gray matter sent out in protest. _The Hive—_

Memories assaulted him, the flood almost sending him back to unconsciousness. Evran subduing him, the doctor putting him under, the flood of minds all talking in his head at once and not being able to separate himself from the mass of the hive-mind and forgetting where Zachar ended and the Hive bega—

Tone putting their hand on his shoulder jerked Zachar back to the present. Back to himself. He closed his eyes and took several long, deep breaths. He rubbed his face with his hands, muscle protests be damned. "Powers that Be..."

"That's about what Nasala was saying as we were bugging out. Among...other things."

Zachar cracked his fingers and peered at them through the gap. "Who's aboard?"

"Oh, the usual. Myself, Ganneth, Nasala and X'vir." Tone replied, ticking off their fingers as they listed the names. "Plus Maera, as well as some friends of hers; a rather cranky kor named Rill, one Szordree Wyndal who cracks a new pun every chance he gets, and a Miss Dione Desidenius—who, by the way, gave me a glare that could've melted a hole in the hull when I called her 'Miss'."

"Usually pissing off people is Ganneth's job, Tone. You might make him nervous."

The aetherborn chuckled. "Well, it's good to know that you're in good spirits, despite feeling like crap."

"I never said I felt like crap."

"You didn't have to." Tone pointed to their chest. "Aetherborn, remember? I can 'smell' mods as easily as you smell pizza. Or BO."

"I feel the need to point out that you can pick up on those, too."

"Yes. Which is why I can tell you _really_ need a shower. No offense Zachar, but you're a little ripe."

"Pardon me for being comatose for..." He paused, frowning. "Um. How long _have_ I been unconscious for?"

"Almost a week, give or take a day or two." Tone replied with a shrug. " _Sleipnir_ and Nasala got us back on course to her clan's caravan. We're with them now."

Zachar just blinked dumbly at them. A week. He'd been out cold for a _week_. And what Maera had done, causing a mana overload and shorting out all the electronics in a radius of...say, fifty meters of them...

Horror slammed into his gut. It wasn't just the chip in _his head_ she'd fried; a good section of the Inquisitorium's headquarters had to have been blown out in the process. Okay, so most of the mundane electronics and magitech _was_ shielded against magical overloads—Eternities only knew how many times some poor mage tried _that_ in an attempt to tell the Inquisitorium to fuck off—but that was the _normal_ kind of aether blowout. The kind that happened when a _normal_ , _planesbound_ mage pulled out that little trick of aether.

But Maera _wasn't_ a planesbound mage. She was an ever-loving _Planeswalker_ , and Zachar knew from his own experience the amount of chaos a Planeswalker could inflict. There was no way the Inquisiorium's shields would've held up if she'd decided to unleash her Spark to hex them.

And that didn't even include the cascade from one of the cerebral chips failing. It was entirely plausible—no, even _likely—_ that the _entire Hive_ had been destroyed in the process.

He was surprised more damage hadn't been done, really. And speaking of the borderline insane, foul-mouthed half-faerie... "How is Maera? Is she all right? Are _all of you_ all right?"

"More or less. I had to put Ganneth's shoulder back together, and he's grumbling about how his head feels funny with half a horn missing." Tone replied. "Nasala had a blaster hole in her thigh I patched up. Szordree had managed to set his pants _and_ hair on fire—note to self, pyromancers are _not_ known for subtlety—and both X'vir and the Great Grouchypants Rill had pretty nasty concussions." They listed off the injuries nonchalantly, but Zachar knew Tone well enough to know that it hid insane amounts of worry. "As for Maera, she did that weird planeswalking thing after the rest of you were aboard, and we ended up picking her up back at Saiyani. She looked...wet."

Zachar let his hands fall away from his face. "Wet? How? Why?"

Another shrug. "No idea. Ask her. She was grumbling something abut a sea dragon and hating evolution."

Zachar snorted, then winced. "Ow. Everything hurts."

"Yeah. I'd point out the fact that you just had your brain almost blown apart, but I feel that would be redundant."

"Funny." Zachar stared to push himself up onto his elbows, but Tone put a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Easy. Don't get up yet; you'll just end up face-first on the floor." The aetherborn said. "If you _must_ tell the others you're awake, I'll just yell out the door and let you be inundated here. _That_ way you don't go and give yourself some new and creative injury.

Zachar frowned at them, but relented and laid back down. "Just as well...felt like I was going to throw up.

"Okay, then you're _definitely_ taking it easy." Tone stood. "I'll go tell the others you're awake, and ask them _not_ to all come flooding in here. That's the _last_ thing you need right now, if just _sitting up_ is enough to make you want to puke."

Zachar grunted softly in reply as the aetherborn left to let the others know. He laid back against his pillows, closing his eyes. He was sore, he was tired, and he felt like hell. And he was pretty sure he _looked_ like hell, too

It wasn't long before he drifted back to sleep.

 **-XXX-**

 **I** t wasn't until two days later that Tone deemed Zachar well enough to be up and about, and it was none too soon for the vedalken; he was starting to get stir crazy. He still had to take it easy, but for the time being he was content just to be out of his bedroom. Currently he was leaning back in one of the three seats in the cockpit, booted feet propped up on the console, staring aimlessly out at the shifting aether current as they cruised at FTL. It was a swirl of myriad colors, merging and separating, a raging interstellar river doing a delicate-looking dance. To him, it reminded him of how his brain pictured the Blind Eternities, making some sort of sense out of the chaotic mess of the not-space between planes.

He heard the padding of bare feet on the floor beside him before Maera sat down in one of the vacant seats next to him. "You look like shit."

Zachar snorted. "Feel worse."

"I'll bet." She paused, and Zachar heard the dull _clunk_ of a pair of items being set down on the console. She nudged him. "Here."

Zachar eyed the glass. It was half-full of amber liquid, the bubbles of carbonation floating to the top. "What's this?"

"You look like you need a drink." She shook the glass gently. "It's scotch, by the way. And Sprite, or whatever analog for it your plane's got."

Zachar grunted and accepted the glass, giving a salute before downing the alcohol. He cringed as it burned its way down his throat, but it was the good kind f burn. "Guess tat confirms your age."

Maera snorted. "Legal age differs from plane to plane, I've noticed. At least the ones that _have_ a legal drinking age, anyway." She poured herself a second glass and raised her eyebrow at him in a question, tilting the bottle towards him. Zachar responded b handing her his glass to be refilled. " _Technically,_ since I spend about half my time on Ravnica, I've been legal since I was twenty. But I still waited till my home country's age."

Zachar accepted the glass again, but didn't down it as fast as the first one. "You didn't come here to discuss legal drinking ages."

Maera grunted, knocking back her second glass before another refill. She sat back, crossing her ankle over her knee. "Like said; you looked like you needed a drink. Or three."

Zachar hummed in reply, eyeing her out of the corner of his eye. Her hair was pulled back in in its customary ponytail, her blue bangs falling partway over half her face. She was wearing a pair of cargo pants and hooded sweatshirt, with a black t-shirt underneath that had some sort of graphic on it. Her posture, however, was...different since the last time he'd seen her. Well, the last time he'd seen her before getting into a spell battle with her.

It wasn't something obvious like her back held straight, or holding her head up, or anything like that it was...he didn't know how to put it. Stronger, maybe. Or more confident, though it wasn't as if she didn't have a ramrod shoved up her ass already.

Whatever it was, Zachar couldn't place it. But that wasn't the only difference...

He nodded to the hand she was using to hold her glass. "Your magic's back."

Maera looked to him and nodded. "It never left, technically." She replied. "It was just all tangled up, and I couldn't draw mana or cast spells without it going haywire."

"Well, looks like you've gotten it un-tangled."

Again she nodded. She took a sip from her drink before continuing. "If anything, it's even _easier_ to cast now." She said. "I mean, it was easy before, but now it's like..." she paused, brow furrowing. "It's like the mana I draw is _asking_ to be used, as if rather than me searching it out it's waiting for the call."

Zachar turned his glass around in his hand, his fingers tapping against it. "You talk abut it as if it were sentient."

Maera made a sound in her throat, swirling her drink around in her glass. "I'm not entirely sure it isn't sentient. Partly, at last." She took a drink from her glass before continuing. "One of the first things I was taught about magic was that it's not a toy; any decent mage, good or evil, respects the mana they wield. It's not a hard thing to lose control of a spell when you decide to start dicking around during the casting."

Zachar thought for a moment. "...Never thought about it that way." A beat. "It makes a kind of sense, though."

"You still sound skeptical."

Zachar shrugged. "I might be a mage, but I prefer to put more stock in what I can physically touch, see, handle...instincts confuse me."

"You'd be a good physicist." Maera downed the last of her glass, but didn't refill it right away. "Though I'd say sticking with magic's still a good plan. Pretty sure the fight in the Death Star Jr. broke a couple ribs."

Zachar winced. Ah. That. Technically, he _had_ been conscious at the time, so he remembered how it had gone. It just hadn't been... _him_ directing his body. Not alone. He'd been connected to the Hive, drawing on the knowledge of the collective consciousness as his own. Most of what he'd' been throwing around...he doubted he'd be able to pull it off on his own.

His gaze slid to the half-faerie in the adjacent seat, fiddling with her glass. He didn't want to admit it, but...she _scared_ him. She'd seen her allies thrown against a wall and knocked unconscious by a friend, and then gone toe-to-toe with him while he'd _had the knowledge of hundreds of individuals at his disposal_. And with that shit-eating grin plastered on her face. And proceed to up the snark meter as she faced down magical might that Zachar was pretty sure would make anybody sane piss their pants.

Maera Hellion was most certainly _not sane._ The woman had to have some screws loose to look that kind of danger in the eye, smirk, and flip it the bird.

 _What kind of shit has she faced before to have that kind of attitude?_

Zachar liked to think he didn't scare easily. But damn...the woman in the seat next to him _terrified_ him.

He did _not_ want to face her in a fight. Again. _Ever._

Zachar drained his glass and refilled it for the third time. "Why?"

Maera frowned at him. "Why...what?"

"Why'd you do that?" He clarified, setting the bottle down. He was pretty sure the alcohol had something to do with his sudden chattiness, but the vedalken didn't really care at the moment. "Why'd you come after me? And how'd you manage to rope the others in, to? That's not the sort of thing you do for someone you've only known for a month or so."

Maera was silent for a moment. Finally, when Zachar was starting to think that she wasn't going to answer, she spoke. "Because you're my friend." She refilled her glass. "You're right, I've known you for all of a month. But it's long enough to know you're a part of my friend group." She paused, and took a swig. "My messy, sometimes horny, fucked up, living-in-the-gutter friend group."

"Are they all as bad as you?"

"Mostly. Some are worse."

Zachar stared at her as she nursed her drink. "You just lumped me I with a bunch of dirty-minded lunatics. Should I be worried?"

"Eh. Not really." She shrugged. "You could be lumped in with a _lot_ worse. The gods of Theros come to mind. So do the Phyrexians, yyyyyech." She shuddered and shook her head. "Never. Want. To. See. One. Again. Oh, and Bolas, of course. But you've heard enough rage about _that_ sack of scaly shit."

"Yes I have." Zachar deadpanned. He took a drink and swished it around in his mouth a moment while he thought over how best to word his reply. "What about the others?"

Maera grunted. "Honestly, pretty sure your friend's would've gone after you with or without me in tow."

"You're probably right about that," Zachar agreed, a small smile quirking the edge of his mouth. "They'd probably get themselves killed in the process, but they would."

"But you're wondering why a bunch of strangers would go along with a suicide plan."

"More or less, yes."

Maera took a sip. "It's...complicated." She replied. "It's one of those 'if he's a friend of yours he's a friend of mine' sort of things, I guess. I didn't really ask them to go with, so much as Rill and Szordree and Dione were already waiting at the dock."

Zachar faced her and studied the woman. "They must _really_ trust you."

Maera grunted. "Maybe." She said. "But...they're friends of mine. I've known 'em for a while, long enough to know when they're about to do something insanely stupid. And enough to know that when they do, I'll meet them at the entrance and haul their ass out when things go sideways."

"That sounds suspiciously like _them_ meeting _you_ at the gate."

Maera snorted into her drink, smiling. "Yeah it does, doesn't it?" She mused. "Welp, that's what friends are for. Running headlong into battle for you over a complete stranger, then lecturing you about how fucking stupid it was later."

"Experience much?"

Another snorted laugh. "Too much experience." She said, before taking another drag from her glass. "But call it a reflex. I tend to get protective of the people I like. Genetics say I'm half faerie, but I wouldn't be surprised if there's a trace of dragon floating around in there. It'd explain the friend hoarding.

Zachar grunted in response, draining his glass before refilling it yet again. He didn't take a drink right away, just fingered the glass and stared outside. He didn't speak, and Maera didn't seem particularly inclined to break the silence either. They sat like that for several minutes before Zachar finally broke the silence. "It's Zachar."

Maera stared at him. "Uh. Wha?"

"Zachar Urin. It's my name." He sipped at the scotch. "Grimoire's my 'net handle. It's more than a little helpful to have a hacker handle other than your actual name. Makes it harder for authorities to find you after the, ah...less legal jobs."

Maera raised her glass in a salute before taking a swig. "Nice to be _officially_ introduced then, Zachar."

Zachar smiled. "So. What makes you so damn sure I'm _not_ still connected to the Hive?"

Maera shrugged. "Mostly you acting like ya'self again." She replied, a slur coloring the ed of the sentence. "That, and Tone couldn' find any traces of the chip. Nor did Nasala." She peered at him over her eyeglasses. "Which reminds me; you still got some 'splainin to do."

Zachar frowned at her. "About _what?_ "

"The whole leaving the Inquisitorium thing." Maera said, sitting back in her seat. "I know why you _joined_ , but somethin' must've _really_ bugged you for ya to scram. 'Specially if you wanted to take 'em down so bad."

Zachar leaned back in his chair again, frown deepening. He sighed through his nose, looking down at his glass without actually _seeing_ it. "It's a...long story."

"I ain't goin' anywhere."

Zachar gave an odd half-shrug. "Short version, I got sick of their shit."

"Long version?"

He let out another sigh, fidgeting with his glass. "First off, I should probably tell you I am— _was—_ an assassin."

"Got that. 'Splains the fighting."

Zachar snorted. " _That_ 's as much to do with the Hive as me." He said. "First thing that happened after I 'walked back to Etrides was get cornered by a bunch of people with guns 'n wearing Inquisitorium uniforms." He _almost_ stopped himself. _Almost._ "And one smug bastard with a creepy smile calling himself Evran."

"The douche who kicked your ass?"

Zachar nodded. "Said I had 'potential'. Said I could be a value to the Inquisitorium with my ability."

"Wait wait wait. Did these guys _already_ know 'bout Planeswalkers?" Maera interrupted. "I'm liking them even _less_."

"They might've figured out after I 'walked the first time. Or had a file on one from the past. Or just thought it was a particularly interesting teleport." He shrugged again. "Dunno, don't care."

"Well, they do now." Maera snorted. She grumbled somethin under her breath in some other language, then shook her head. "Go on."

Zachar took a sip of his drink and laid his head back, eyes closed. "I was fifteen and stupid, so I thought by joining up I could take them down from the inside, make 'em crumble from within." He continued. "So I joined up, planning to do exactly that. On my own. Like the idiot teenager I was."

Maera snorted noisily. " _Wow._ That _is_ stupid. Watched to many movies, didya?"

"Thanks for the encouragement." Zachar deadpanned. "Anyway, the highlights're this; I became Evran's apprentice, got to be one of the Inquisitorium's assassins and took on a lot of the more dangerous stuff since I could fuck outta there when things got too nasty."

"Bet they took advantage of your techno-magic-thingy too."

Zachar grunted. "That too." He opened his eyes and drained his glass, then refilled it before sitting back again. "I...don't' like killing. I just did the job they gave me, thinking it was a means to an end." He chuckled humorlessly. "Fat lotta good that did the people I killed."

"And lemme guess; ya decided 'fuck this, I'm out' and bailed."

"Pretty much." He stared down into his glass, not really seeing the amber liquid. "Somethin' snapped, and I decided that no matter how much information I stole, no matter how much of it I to to people who could 'do something', and no matter how high up in their ranks I got it wasn't worth the blood. So I quit." A beat. "Or thought I did, anyway."

"I don' see anything on you that screams 'Inquisitorium scumbag, come and get it'."

Zachar snorted. "May as well be. Found me anyway." He tapped the tattoo around his eye with his free hand. " _This_ damn thing is something every member has. Supposed to guarantee 'loyalty'." His face twisted. "More like it's a damned kill switch. Blackmail tattooed on your skin; do what we want or die. S'got a tracker in it, too—it's how Evran found me at Saiyani."

"Sooo you were running around with a tracker _in your face._ That's dumb."

Zachar felt his face heating, and he told himself it was the alcohol and _not_ irritation. "I thought it'd been fried with all the Planeswalks." He defended. "It's kinda hard to get tech and magic to mix when your magic involves... _that._ "

"Yeah. S'how I fried ya brain chip."

Zachar hummed, ignoring the increasingly thick slurs. Absently, some distant part of his own mind observed that _he_ wasn't exactly sober either, but he ignored it in favor of the scotch and soda. "Anyways, when I 'walked away I decided to leave a back door so I could easily hack in whenever I needed info quick, so I didn' have t' wait around for other sources.

"But, turns out I was wrong. Planeswalking all th' time _didn't_ fry the tracker, so every time I came back they knew _exactly_ where I was." He frowned into his glass. "That, and the big magical signature 'walk leaves."

"Wonder why they didn' pick ya back up schooner." Maera mumbled, holding up her now-empty glass and eyeing it. "Hey, there's sparkles in these glasses. Shiny."

Zachar was in the middle of draining his glass (For the fourth time...? Or was he on drink five by now? Eh, whatever, he wasn't counting) and choked as he laughed. Maera frowned at him, as the vedalken coughed and sputtered his laughing. "Whasso funny?"

"Y...y-y-you!" Zachar laughed. "You were all grave and serious and now you're distracted by _glitter!"_

Maera threw the tumbler at him and he ducked, the glass bouncing off the floor behind him. "Shaddup."

"It was _funny._ " He refilled his glass. "You changed subjects faster than a...than a..." He frowned, trying to think of a metaphor. He couldn't, so he let it drop. "It was funny."

Maera stuck her tongue out at him. "Get my glass, wouldya?"

"No. You threw it."

"You're closer."

"I'm comfortable. Don' wanna move."

Maera rolled her eyes and stood, blowing him a large, wet raspberry. Surprisingly, she didn't sway when she walked—much. Zachar was impressed, up until she bent to pick up the glass.

And ended up stumbling and falling on her ass. Zachar again dissolved into a fit of giggles. Maera scowled, but ended up joining him in the gigglefest. Eventually, the two of them calmed down, and Maera wiped a tear of laughter from her eye. "I looked pretty stupid, right?"

"Very." Zachar held up a finger, affecting (what he assumed) was a stern expression. "No bending over till you're sobered up."

"Hey. I'm more sober'n you."

"You just faceplanted on the deck. You're still sitting there."

"I mean tot do that."

"Right."

The half-faerie crossed her arms. "I'm more thober than you shink I am." She smirked.

Zachar snorted a laugh into his glass. "You don't sound very sober."

"Shaddup." This time she threw a stray dusting rag at him. He ducked again, but this time the projectile ended up on his head. Maera promptly started laughing again. "You look ridicoo..ridici...you look stupid!"

This time it was Zachar's turn to blow a raspberry, like the mature one. "So,you gonna get up or stay on the floor?"

Maera stuck her tongue out and stood up. Or, tried to. She got to her feet all right, but had to use his chair for support as she nearly tripped over her own feet. "Um. The floor's comfy."

Zachar snorted as she dropped back down. "So since you're staying glued to the floor, want a refill?"

"Yes please." She held up her glass, and Zachar obliged. "Your face is purple."

"Is not."

"Is too." Maera looked to the ceiling. "Shle...Slepno...Shelmnir...ah, screw it. Hey ship, does Zach's face look purple?"

" _I'm going to exercise my right to remain silent on the matter and point out that you're both drunk."_

"Hey! I'm not drunk!" Maera gave Zachar an indignant look. "Tell 'im!"

" _You're_ th' one who faceplanted!"

"Your face is purple!"

"That's because my blood is red."

"Then why're you blushing?"

"I'm not blushing!"

"Yer _sooo_ blushing! Zachar's blushing, Zachar's blushing~"

" _He's right, actually; Zachar's not blushing._ " Sleipnir pointed out matter-of-factually. _"That's just his face flushing, because he's as drunk as you are."_

Maera blew another raspberry at the ship's comment. "He got a mute button?"

"If he does, I can't find it." Zachar took a drink before nodding to her. "I spilled my guts. Your turn."

"I already did some gut-spilling. Can't you see th' stomach on th' floor"

"Ew." Zachar made a face."I mean, why're you so protective? What made you a friend-hoarder?"

Now it was Maera's turn to snort into her glass. "Dunno. S'always how I've been, I guess." She replied. "Fun fact, back wen I was a kid I was a normal human."

Zachar frowned in confusion. "Uh. How does that work? You said you were half faerie."

"I am." She crossed her legs. "It's...weird. Up till fifteen or so, I was normal. Vanilla human, nothing to see here." She paused. "Well, 'cept for the fact that I never stopped believing in magic, like most people do by then on my plane, buuuut I blame my friends for that."

"They Planeswalkers too?"

Maera shook her head. "Naw. None of 'em're human, though." She raised a hand and ticked them off. "Niko's a shadow nymph, Lise is a dark elf, and Darren's a vampire." She snickered. "A very _derpy_ vampire. He at twenty-four crayons one time."

"You're _joking._ "

Maera snickered again. "Nope. Alcohol was involved." She replied, holding up her glass to illustrate. "I've known those three since kindergarten." She leaned back against the console. "Met 'em because Niko was crying because some kids stole his cupcake—so I shared some of mine—and Darren was being bullied so I threw rocks at the kids doing it."

"You're a very violent person."

Maera shrugged. "Yeah." She said. "Lise was in my Girl Scout troop, so I already knew her because we were the _weird kids._ " She held up her hands and waved her fingers around, making an "oooooo' sound as if she were imitating a ghost. Zachar just thought she looked silly. "Point is, my friends were magic so I never outgrew it, 'cause I was always around it."

"Sooo...how'd the half faerie thing happen?

"Bels." She cracked her neck. "She's a Planeswalker. And the Dragonborn, but that's another story of fuckiness that she can tell ya when ya meet her." Maera continued. "Turns out, hanging out with a shadow nymph and an elf and a vampire my whole life wasn' enough to wake up my fae blood. Oh, noo—it needed a freaking _Spark_ hanging around _all the time_ to drag it's ass outta bed. Shortly after I met Bels—who, BTW, was described to me as _shy—_ my back started getting all itchy so I looked in the mirror and saw wing tattoos. 'Cept I hadn't gotten any tattoos. Took a pic, showed Bels, asked what the fuck, and ssshe did a blood draw and had a DNA test done."

"And then you found out."

"Yerp. Fifteen years old and a fucking half-faerie throwback. She swirled the scotch around in her glass. "It started sooooo many 'faerie princess' jokes. Lots of shoes got thrown at lots of people's heads."

"So _that's_ why you always run around barefoot. You threw all your shoes at people telling jokes about your heritage."

Maera gigglesnorted. "I got them _back_ , I jus' don' like shoes." She took a swig again before continuing. "Firs' think I thought was 'fuck yeah, I can learn magic!'." A pause as she muffled a belch. "Grew up watching movies where mages were he badasses, saw my friends _become_ badasses, and made friends with more badass mages. Sooo I decided I was gonna be a battlemage, blow shit up and save the world and all that fun shit."

"Your life sounds like a YA holonovel."

Maera hummed a laugh. "It does, doesn't it?" She went back to idly swirling her drink. "I thought it'd be cool as hell, throwing fireballs and freezing zombies and punching dragons in the face. Turns out fighting is fucking _scary_ , and it's even scarier when it ain't just your neck on the line. It's scary as hell when you're out there, balls-deep in battle, 'n seeing your friends get hurt and keep going because they're as stubborn and stupid as you are. And knowing that if _you_ get killed, it'll be easier for them to get dead too." She drained her glass, but didn't hold it up for a refill. "It's fucking _terrifying._ I don't like fighting. I like being a battlemage, I like being an artificer, I like being a Planeswaker. But I _don't like fighting._ " She shook her head. "Sounds stupid. Battlemage who don' like fighting. Hah. Makes no sense."

Zachar studied the woman. Her face was flushed from the alcohol, her bangs were messy from fidgeting with them, and she was staring down at her empty glass. "So...why d'you keep doing it, if you hate fighting so much? Why keep running into something you don't like?"

Maera was quiet for a while. A long while. To Zachar's boozed-up brain, it felt like hours passed before she spoke again. "Because I like seeing people killed a lot less." She said softly. "Most people can't defend against the scare shit that goes bump in the night. Hell, a lot don' even know it's _there._ " She fidgeted with her glass. "Aaannnnd I used to be one of those people. I used to be one of the ones who needed protecting.

"I don' like fighting. I literally puke after _evvvvery damn battle._ But damn it to ell, I'm not gonna let the Eldrazi 'r Phyreshians 'r Bolas 'r the Bork or whatever the hell else's out there run wild.

"S'when I started learning to be a battlemage, I did it so I didn't need protecting. I decided t' plant my staff, look the scary shit in th' eye, n' say 'come at me, bitch'. S'why I wet to Zendikar 'n Innistrad 'n Kaladesh...Amonkhet." She looked up at him. "S'why I went after your dumb ass. I protect my friends. Ain't nobody gonna fuck with my friends."

She trailed off, still fidgeting with the glass, rolling it in her hands. Zachar nursed the remains of his drink as they sat in companionable—and drunken—silence. Finally after...well, he was pretty sure it was a while later, he drained his glass and spoke. "Wwwwwow. You're definitely crazy. Or stupid. Probababab...ly both."

Maera snorted, then laughed, then broke out into a snorting laugh. "You sshound like a drunk person!"

"Well that's great, because I _am_ a durunk person!"

The laughs became guffaws, and Zachar snickered himself out of his chair to join the half-faerie on the ground. He laughed so hard his gut hurt, and his ass hurt, and his head hurt...but he still ended up on the ground, leaning against Maera as the two of them laughed themselves stupid on the deck.

Finally, it died out, and the two of them stayed leaning against each other, mostly for support as Zachar wasn't sure if either of them would stay upright on their own. "Welp. We're both colpe...complerty...compelly...conpa..." Maera shook her head. "We're _blasted_. Udderly blitzed. Shloshed. Three sheets t' th' wind."

"Drunker n' the deep end of the pool." Zachar added. Maera snickered again.

"I think I've had..." She held up her glass and frowned. "...don' remember how many've had. Pretty sure dat's not a good thing."

"Nah. Its not." Zachar clumsily pulled himself up enough to retrieve the bottle, then _fwhumped_ back down. "Wanna nother one anyway?"

Maera held up her glass. "Fill 'er up."

Zachar grinned and refilled her glass, then his own. "Cheers."

They clinked glasses. "T' fuckin' up dumbass...whatever-it-ises."

* * *

 **As per usual, while reviews and likes and subscribes aren't required, they feel nice n_n.**


	16. What Comes Around

**This is probably getting repetetive by now, but I mean it every time; thank you to all of you who've read this fic so far, even if you haven't left a review (yet). And the biggest thanks of all for this one go to my friend GamerDragon13 for beta-ing this chapter. Mostly because I don't want to mangle my portrayal of Dione (whom I've borrowed from her for this fic), and partly because she'll catch things that I've missed.**

 **Disclaimer: Y'all know the drill, here. If you recognize it, I don't own it. Also, Dione Desidenius (gods I hope I spelled that right) belongs to Gamer.**

 **Without further ado...**

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen**

 **What Comes Around Will Bite You in the Ass**

 **Maera** felt like a corpse.

No, scratch that. She felt _worse_ than a corpse. She was pretty sure a corpse didn't have a pounding head that felt like it was full of lead shot.

 _Somebody shoot me and get it over with. This feels worse than death._

"Well, you look like shit. Do I need to call a priest of Arkay? Or a necromancer?"

Maera groaned, the words renewing her headache with abandon. She gingerly raised her head, squinted, and made out a dunmer-shaped blur. "Dione. Hi. Go away."

"Why?"

"I'm busy pretending I'm dead."

Dione came closer, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I'd say 'good morning' Sunshine, but it's way past morning and you don't look sentient."

"I'm not sentient. Now go away and let me be miserable alone."

Dione, much to Maera's misery, didn't. Instead, she took a seat at the table and propped her chin on her fingers. "How's it feel to have your first hangover?"

"Fuck. Off."

"Taking it well, I see."

Maera moaned again and dropped her head back onto the table. Ow. That hurt. She raised a middle finger in the dunmer's direction. "You are terrible."

"And you still look like shit."

"I'm hungover. Go away."

"Maybe this'll teach you not to get drunk out of your mind and try Planeswalking all over the place."

"Fuck off."

"I've already got a man to do that with, but thanks anyway."

Maera made a sound reminiscent of a Wookiee with the flu. She glared at the dunmer out of the crook of her elbow. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Very much so." Done was holding something up in her hand...something that looked suspiciously like a smartphone. "And you know that _this_ is going in the scrapbook."

"Is that my phone?"

"Yes."

"Are you taking a picture of me?"

"For posterity's sake, of course."

"You're a fucking heartless asshole."

"I'm archmage of Winterhold College, master of the Thieves' Guild, and friends with Belinda. Heartless asshole comes with the job description."

Maera called her something in German that is unfit for print.

Dione responded with the middle finger.

The door swished open again, and this time Szordree entered. "Ah, it seems our sleeping beauty has returned to the land of the...er...living." Maera turned her glare on him, and he put a hand over his mouth to hide the grin. "Um. Dione, are you sure we don't have a corpse on our hands?"

"As someone who's helped cut up and dispose of a corpse before, I'm sure."

Maera eyed her. "Do I _want_ to know?"

"Not particularly."

Szordree took a step back. "Note to self; do not piss you off."

"Don't worry; unless you're secretly a Thalmor or named Nathiel, that's not likely." Dione put Maera's phone back down on the table. "Because if you are, keep in mind that I can put an arrow into your ass from five hundred meters away."

" _Really_ don't want to piss you off."

Maera had screwed her eyes shut and was massaging her temple. Her headache was only getting worse, and the two fellow Planeswalkers were _not_ helping. "Multiverse, why. Why can't I just wallow in my misery alone...?"

Maera didn't need to look at him to know that Szodree's eyebrows had shot up. "Hungover, much?" She spared her hand for a moment to flip him off. Then went back to the massage in a vain attempt at some sort of relief from her alcohol-induced migraine. "I'm going to take that as a yes."

"I'm going to puke on your clothes and make you clean it up if you don't _shut the fuck up."_

"Y'know, I preferred your mood last night. _Much_ more entertaining."

Maera's eyes snapped open. Last night...she only partly remembered last night. Some time around the fourth drink or so, her memory got hazy and then...nothing.

Once again she groaned, only this time rather than sounding like a flu-ridden Wookiee she sounded like one with a serious case of constipation.

This was _not good._

Dione blinked at her. "I think you broke her, Szordree."

"Hey, you were laughing too."

"Yes, but I also wasn't _encouraging her._ "

Maera let her head fall back to the table. "Gods above...what did I _do_?"

"If you're wondering if you need to start thinking about a morning-after potion, you don't need to. Not for lack of _this idiot's_ ," she pinned Szordree with a glower, and the drow shifted uncomfortably, "trying. There wasn't sex involved, thank Azura."

"Though there _were_ some pretty hilarious attempts at pole dancing." Szordree grinned, rocking back on his heels.

Maera moaned again.

Dione let out a long-suffering sigh and rolled her eyes. She reached into the satchel at her waist and pulled out a glass vial. She set it down in front of Maera. "Here. I think you've suffered enough."

Maera gave her a suspicious look, but picked up the vial and opened it. Right now, she'd be willing to try _anything_ to alleviate the stabbing pain in her head every time someone spoke. Or she opened her eyes. Or moved. Or thought about...anything. Really, just the acts of breathing and firing neurons was painful, and Maera was fairly certain the inside of her mouth was made of cotton. And despite the electrolyte-vitamin-etcetera powerdrink in front of her, she seemed to have lost the ability to pee.

She gave the vial of liquid a sniff, and very promptly yanked her head away in disgust. " _Yegch!_ It smells like my dad's feet!"

"Just shut up and drink it. I don't look forward to spending the rest of the day in the company of a constipated cow."

Maera blew her a raspberry (like any mature, hungover adult would do) and peered at the potion. "...You're sure this isn't made from my dad's toe jam? Because first, ew. Second, if it is you probably massacred an alien civilization."

"Okay, that's gross." Dione pinched the bridge of her nose. "Just drink the damn potion before _I_ get sick."

"Just sayin'." Pinching the bridge of her nose, Maera downed the potion in one swallow, spitting and sputtering at the taste. " _Yyyyyyech!_ Tastes like three day old rotten ass!"

"It'll get rid of your hangover. I made sure I restocked _everything_ before I left Nirn, and I'm glad I did. You're welcome, by the way."

Maera grumbled something insulting into her elbow. Dione let out another long-suffering sigh. "In any case, you're going to need to apologize to Rill for almost poking his eye out with your needle elbows, and give Bels a bit of context for some of the texts you sent."

Her head popped up again. "What."

"You were drunk-texting everyone you knew. And I mean _everyone._ Belinda, Darren, Lise, Sephervorn, Karr, your mother..."

Maera held up a hand, stopping Dione's list. "Please. Stahp. I may not have much dignity, but I'd like to preserve the shreds I have left."

Dione arched an eyebrow. "That's going to be hard to do, as last night you stomped on, burned, drowned, burned again, crapped on, and buried those shreds in cement before tossing them into the Eternities."

"Can't you just let me live in denial?"

"I could, but then you'd be living a lie. And as a friend, I'm obligated to keep you from deluding yourself."

Maera stuck her tongue out at her. She looked to Szordree. "Back me up here, Szord."

The drow shrugged. "Kinda hard to do, considering that _is_ what happened." He nodded to the phone, still lying on the table. "Before you consider suicide, I'd take a look at the phone."

"You just want to see the look of horror on my face when I see what I sent people."

"Pretty much, yeah."

Maera groaned and bonked her head on the table. Ow, mistake. The potion _was_ starting to kick in, but not nearly fast enough to spare her pounding head. Knowing that she'd regret what she was about to look at, she picked her phone up and started flipping through the texts from last night.

There were...a lot.

It was like reading the text equivalent of a train wreck. Maera felt her face turning red, and not out of frustration. No, it was all pure, undiluted embarrassment here.

Deep down, she felt the last microscopic bits of dignity curl up and die a very whiny death.

And the more she scrolled through her text messages, the worse the horror got. It really was like watching a train wreck; it was horrible to witness, yet she couldn't tear her eyes away. The only difference is was that the only thing dying here was her self-respect.

After she was done reading through the humiliation, she put the phone down deliberately, and put her hands—magical construct and flesh-and-blood—together in front of her. She tapped her chin with her index fingers. "Well?" Dione prompted.

Maera took a moment to let her brain finish... _digesting_ what she'd just read. And then file it in the farthest, darkest hole of her hippocampus where she could ignore its existence for the rest of her life. Or until one of her shithead friends brought it up again, whichever came first. She pinned first Dione, then Szordree, with the deadliest glare she could muster. "This," she said, pointing to her phone, "will never be spoken of. Again."

"Of course not." Dione's tone was all innocence. Which meant that the moment Maera let the room, she'd be updating Bels.

Szordree crossed his fingers. "I swear on the honor of House Wyndal." He said, in his best 'you can trust me' voice.

Which, like Dione, was utter bullshit.

Maera gave them both the finger.

Szordree snorted a snicker as Dione hid a smile behind her hand. "The moment I'm off this crazy plane I'm going to track down the others and make them promise under threat of blackmail to _never_ speak of this to _anyone._ Or I'll go to every plane they've ever been to and create giant illusions of their darkest, most mortifying secrets in the skies _for everyone to see._ "

"You say that like it'll work." Dione deadpanned.

"I know it won't work on Bels. But it might on Nissa. Or Jace." _Definitely on Liliana._ She made a face. _Ugh...if I track down that bitch I swear to the gods I'm going to rearrange her face. With my foot. And steel-toed boots._

Shaking her head, Maera stood. "I'm gonna go see if Zachar's as miserable as I am." She grumbled, heading for the door.

"Is that code for 'leave me alone you shits'?" Szordree asked.

"That too." Maera shoved past the drow, heading for the bathroom. Her bladder was finally catching up, no small thanks to the hangover-curing potion. Not thinking to knock, she mashed the 'open' button next to the bathroom door.

It opened. To a certain slim vedalken, halfway through pulling on a breast binder.

Maera froze. So did Zachar; he was turning a bright, bright purple. Maera blinked, the scene not quite registering.

After a moment, it did. And her face went red as a beat. _"Ohmigodimsosorry!"_ She spluttered, doing an about-face and letting the door swish shut. She pressed her hands over her face in a vain attempt to hide the fact that she was redder than Chandra's _hair_. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Why didn't you lock the door?!"

"Because normally you _knock!"_ Zachar snapped from inside the head. "Like a _normal person!"_

"I also don't usually have a bladder about to explode!"

" _Too much information!"_

Zachar grumbled something from inside the bathroom before exiting. "All yours," He said, barely before Maera shoved past him and into the head.

She sighed in relief as she, well... _relieved_ herself. Outside the locked door, she heard Zachar whistle. "It sounds like you drank an entire fountain."

"Shut up. It's not like you didn't pee for five straight minutes or something, once your bladder woke up."

"Again I say; _too much information._ " Silence for several minutes, before he continued. "So, well. You know _that_ now."

"Um. Yeah." Maera flushed, and was halfway through pulling her pants up when she heard the door beep. She threw the toilet brush at the door, eliciting a squawk out of Zachar. _"For the love of god!"_

"The hells was _that_ for?!"

"You're a _dude!_ " Maera's voice was several octaves higher than it should be. "The fuck were you thinking?!"

"I'm standing out here in my boxers! I was just gonna grab my pants!"

"You can get your pants _after_ I'm decent!"

There were several bangs against the door, presumably Zachar banging his head against it. He grumbled something in vedalken before letting out an exasperated sigh. "I've _seen_ all that before. I'm—" another frustrated sound. "I'm _trans,_ for fuck's sake. _None_ of that...junk is new."

"Still a guy. Still not allowed to see me with my pants down."

Dead silence. Maera reddened again as she realized what she'd just said. Zachar let out a snorting laugh. "You _really_ don't have a brain-to-mouth filter, do you."

"Fuck you." Maera's face was still burning as she washed her hands. "My dignity's dead enough as it is. Let me salvage some scrap of it."

Zachar snorted a laugh. "Good luck with that. After last night, I'm pretty sure you don't have any dignity _left._ "

"Oh shut up. You were just as hammered as I was."

"Don't remind me. Nice pole dancing, though."

" _Fuck you!"_

Maera opened the door and threw Zachar's pants at him, catching the vedalken full in the face. A pair of voices whistled as she exited. _"Woo-wee._ Who would've thought you two had the hots for each other~" X'vir sang.

Tone clapped their hands. "Congratulations, Zachar! You finally found a girlfriend, we can finally delete that dating profile."

Zachar's eye twitched. Maera's mouth hung open for a moment before speaking. "You. You are a couple of assholes."

X'vir beamed. "The best friends are."

"I prefer the term 'sarcastically supportive'." That was Tone.

Zachar looked to Maera as he pulled his pants on. "You want to throw something at them first, or should I?"

Maera was about to answer when the ship shook. She braced herself on the wall as the intercom crackled to life. _"Guys, we might have a problem."_ Nasala said.

Zachar reached past Maera and tapped a control. "What's wrong?"

" _Munda's getting some alarming readings from the engineers. The convoy's dropping out of FTL to be safe; the aether stream's unstable."_

Maera frowned. "That doesn't sound right. This is a major spaceway, isn't it?"

" _Yep. Or, it's supposed to be; hence the weird readings. It looks like something's redirecting the aether and changing the path of the leyline itself."_

Maera saw Zachar's eyes widen. She had a pretty good idea what going through his head, because she was thinking the same thing; that wasn't _possible_. Or if it was, it shouldn't be _easy._ The dead silence from the others told her that Tone and X'vir were thinking as well. "That was an emergency dropout."

" _Yeah. Mun figured it'd be safer to drop now and figure out what was going on at sublight rather than get spat out of the stream later. Rather play it safe than get sprayed all over the sector."_

Zachar hummed, face darkening. Maera's mouth went into a thin line; getting yanked out of FTL by Captain Fashionably Challenged and Company was what had caused the damage to _Sleipnir_ in the first place. Being stuck on sublight power, it'd have taken another week or more to get to Saiyani without the lift from Ganneth and his buddies. She didn't want to think about what that wold do to what was effectively a spacefaring _city-state_.

She chewed her lip. "What d'you think could redirect the leylines?"

" _Something really powerful and probably dangerous._ " Nasala paused. _"Zach? You got any ideas?"_

"A few. And I don't like them. Doubt your cousin will, either."

" _Which means the rest of the clan heads won't like it, either. I'll make note not to tell Munda, then."_ A beat. _"Or tell him the non-Planeswalkery part, and then tell him not to tell the rest of the heads."_

"If he did, they'd think he lost his mind."

" _Sometimes, I wonder if you've lost yours."_

"Thanks for the ringing endorsement." Zachar grumbled. "I'll be up there one I get something caffeinated. See you in a minute."

" _Just no booze this time. I think you traumatized Ganneth last night."_ Nasala teased. Maera muffled a gigglesnort; looks like she wasn't the _only_ one whose dignity took a one-way trip down the toilet. Zachar shot her a glower.

"Shut up. Both of you." The vedalken groused, shoving his hands in his pockets and heading for the mess. X'vir started making smooching sounds at his retreating back, to which Zachar threw a, _"You too, X'vir!"_ over his shoulder.

 _I wonder if I should warn him about Dione and Szord,_ Maera thought, before shaking her head. _Eh, he'll find out. And it won't deter those two's teasing._

Maera beat Zachar to the cockpit, where Ganneth, Nasala and Rill were already gathered. Three people made it crowded enough, and the addition of the half-faerie just made it even more cramped. _There is no way everyone's gonna fit in here._ She thought. As Zachar entered, followed by Szordree and Dione, she cringed. _Ugh. Sardineville._

"Well, this is...cozy." Szordree said, finding a spot on the wall to lean against.

"Cozy's one word." Zachar grumbled, squeezing his way to an empty seat and tapping on the console, coffee in hand. "What's so interesting about the cockpit today, anyway?"

"Apart from coming out of FTL and Nasala's cousin having a minor panic attack?" Ganneth piped up.

Nasala punched him in the arm. "Mun wasn't having a panic attack. It was a 'better safe than sorry' moment." She said. "And, well...look outside."

Maera did, and her jaw dropped. "What in Oblivion...?" She heard Dione gasp behind her, and she felt the same way.

The aether stream, which _had_ been flowing strong, was rapidly disintegrating. She could _see_ streams of mana breaking away and floating off, as f something was turning off the faucet. "That is _not_ natural."

" _It isn't." Sleipnir_ said. _"And I'm pretty sure that if it keeps up, it'll become nearly impossible to use FTL. At least, not with the drives we have now."_

"Which means we've got to find the source of the problem and fix it." Zachar said, tapping something into his console as he slid into the seat next to Nasala. " _Sleipnir_ , do you think we'll be able to get to FTL in this highway?"

Nasala gaped at him. "You're kidding, right?" She asked. "It's unstable, Zach."

"For large convoys, yeah. But _Sleipnir_ 's a lot smaller than the _Dawnbreaker_ and its group." Zachar pointed out. "We _might_ be able to ride it for a while, figure out where the streams are being directed _to_..."

" _I'm going to head you off and advise against that, Urin."_ The screen flickered, and the image of a kor man who looked to be in his forties appeared in the bottom-left quadrant. _"According to my engineers, the aether stream's losing integrity, fast. You might be able to get Sleipnir to FTL, but it wouldn't be for long and it'd be uncomfortable when you return to sublight."_

Zachar's mouth went into a thin line. Maera knew that look; it was the one he got when he was hell-bent on doing something and was faced with a roadblock. _'Sounds like someone else, doesn't it?'_ Taibhse's mental voice piped up.

 _Oh shut up. I'm not that bad._

 _'Yes you are'._

 _No I'm not._

 _'D'you want me to point out how much like a first-grader you sound, or can you figure that out on your own?'_ Maera wasn't sure what annoyed her more; the snarky tone, or the fact that he was kinda right.

 _Oh shaddup, willya?_

She swore she heard Taibhse snicker, but he obliged and quieted and as Zachar and Nasala's cousin had their conversation. She tuned it out, and focused on sensing the plane's mana.

She closed her eyes, and envisioned it as a network in her mind. The presences of her companions shone blue, red, white, black...Maera tuned them out too, easily enough. The aether stream that they'd been riding was shifting between all five colors of mana, churning and thrashing in the empty space...

...and sputtering. Nasala's cousin, Munda, was right; the stream was unstable. Maera followed it with her magical senses, and found the the streams it intersected with were losing stability as well. As the picture came together in her head, she saw something that made the bottom drop out of her stomach.

Not only was something redirecting the plane's leylines, it was focusing them at _one point_. With the streams as tangled up as they were, she didn't even try to trace where that central point was. All she knew was that this redirection was indeed artificial, and it was putting a strain on the plane's leylines.

And, by extension, on the plane itself.

Worry coiled in the half-faerie's gut. Etrides wasn't her plane, but it had people she'd come to care about on it. And Maera _really_ wanted to be able to come back here and have a proper nerd-out when things were less...bad.

That aside, it left the question if what was being done to Etrides was also affecting the Blind Eternities as well. If it was, it could have repercussions throughout the _rest_ of the Multiverse...

 _I don't know what's gonna happen, but there's no way it's good. It's going to be one big shitstorm._

 _And something tells me that one way or another, I'm going to be smack in the middle of it. Again._ Maera pinched the bridge of her nose. _Just once, I'd like things to be simple. Just once._

Someone nudged her, and she cracked an eye open. Dione was giving her a strange look. "Are you all right?"

Maera grunted. "He's right about the leyline." She said, drawing the attention of everyone in the small room. "It's not just unstable, it's being rerouted and its power drained for...something. Don't know what. And it's happening to other leylines, too."

The dunmer's eyes widened. "How'd you...wait, nevermind. Explain that later. You said the _leylines_ were being _redirected._ "

"And drained."

" _I hope you're wrong."_ Maera looked to the viewscreen as the kor continued. _"If something's draining the leylines...it's not just spaceships that are screwed. Nearly all magitech will eventually lose power, the same for anything and any one that relies on mana for power."_

"The next question is, what could cause that sort of power drain in the first place," Nasala said, fiddling with an earring. "Though if it _can_ , I'm not sure if I want to know..."

Munda let out a breath and rubbed one of his temples. _"I'll send a message through the 'net, tell other convoys to get the word out; the leylines are losing power. If people are riding them as they go out—"_

The group never got to hear him finish the thought. The feed went to static, before a new image appeared on the screen. And it wasn't Nasala's cousin Munda.

The face on the screen was partly obscured by a deep hood, with some sort of breathing apparatus covering the bottom half of the being's face. _"Greetings, my Messiah. I wish I could have introduced myself sooner, but you have done quite a good job of hiding yourself. It only confirms that the spark I sensed a month ago was indeed you."_

"What the fuck?" Nasala sat up straighter in her chair. "Zach, you have any idea what's going on?"

"He's hacked all the frequencies," the vedalken in question grumbled. "Damn it...I'd _love_ to know what encryption he's using, because I'm having trouble with it."

" _You are descended from him."_ The man continued, either not hearing the conversation or choosing to ignore it. _"Allandir MacNielle, your ancestor...and the man who stole my godhood."_ He paused, seeming to redirect his attention to Rill. _"As you would know, Rill of the Zendikari Kor."_

Maera glanced away from the screen momentarily, and the tightening around Rill's eyes was not lost on her. "Ha ha, real funny. You're really good a being dramatic, so you gonna say anything other than shit I already know?" _What's this jackass know about Rill and Allandir?_

" _You came here bloodied and powerless. It seems you've rectified that; good."_ He apparently had no intention of answering Maera's questions. Or it was pre-recorded. _"I did not foresee your...tenacity. Only your face, and your sword...and his staff, of course."_

"You still haven't answered my question. Mind telling us who the hell you are and why you're being Mr. Annoyingly Dramatic?"

" _I?"_ The figure raised his head just slightly, enough to peer out from under his hood—with bloodshot yellow eyes. Maera felt a shiver run down her spine. _"I am an old friend. Or rival, if you prefer. You don't know me, but your blood will."_

"Speak Common, for Ran's sake." Ganneth growled. "What're you getting at?"

" _I believe I was addressing my Messiah, Miss Hellion."_ Maera tensed; he knew her name. How, she had no idea—but he did. _"I am giving you a chance to join me, and lead Etrides to its glorious destiny—reuniting with the beautiful eternity just beyond our reality. Join me willingly, and be rewarded."_

 _Well. That fits with what Zachar told me about that Bleeder cult. This guy must be the leader._ Maera thought, squeezing her biceps. "And if I decide y'all are on some kind of space meth and fuck out?"

He was silent for several moments before replying. _"It would be regrettable. If you are his blood, you will know where to come."_

The screen blanked out again before returning to the image of Nasala's peeved-off cousin. _"What in the hells was that?!" _He demanded. _"Who was he and how did he override all of our comm bands?!"_

"Hell if I know." Zachar ran a hand through his hair. "You heard it too?"

" _I wouldn't be surprised if that was broadcast through the entire sector."_ Munda replied, his barbels twitching in frustration. _"Nasala, what have you kids managed to get into this time?"_

The young kor woman exchanged a glance with Zachar. "We're still figuring it out." She said, rubbing the back of her neck. "Buuut I'm starting to think either he or someone he's working with wants something from...one of us."

Maera didn't point herself out as the one Nasala was talking about. She just chewed the inside of her cheek, arms crossed. _He knew Allandir, if he knew about his staff._ She thought, as the others talked. _And he knows that he passed it on to me, but how? I didn't see anyone who looked like that guy around when Allandir pulled me aside and gave it to me..._

The small screen disappeared as Zachar, Nasala and Munda finished speaking. "Well." Nasala leaned back in her chair. "That was creepy, if you don't mind me pointing out the obvious."

Ganneth snorted. "Understatement," he said. The minotaur eyed Zachar. "You're thinking something. If it's stupid, don't."

Zachar shot him a glare. "You don't know I'm planning anything."

"Just gonna head ya off, no dumb shit. We already done that with runnin' inta the Inquisitorium. That loon sounded like a Bleeder, and I don' wanna deal with any cultist wackos."

Maera eyed Rill, who looked like he'd just seen a ghost. Or woken up from a nightmare. "I'm thinking it has a bit _more_ to do with than cultist wackos..." She mused.

"Don't tell me he's another Planeswalker," Dione's voice was deadpan. Maera swore she saw the dunmer woman's eye twitch.

"If he's not, I'll eat Eldrazi guts." Rill grumbled, sounding like he'd rather eat a block of lead. He addressed the room at large, but he was looking at Maera. "And I _really_ hope that wasn't who I _think_ he is."

"And that is?" Szordree piped up.

A muscle worked in the kor's jaw and something shifted behind his eyes that made Maera squirm. Nasala must have picked up on it too, because she rose and said, "Ganneth, let's get something to eat. I get the feeling that what's about to go down is going to make one of our brains melt."

"Oy, my brain ain't meltin'. 'Sides, I wanna see if this grumpy dude's gonna blow a gasket."

"Ganneth. Lunch. C'mon, before I grab you by the—"

" _Awright, I'm comin'!"_ The minotaur almost ran the kor over as the two left the cockpit, and Maera promptly took one of the two newly-vacated seats.

"So, I'm assuming that this nut is connected to you, somehow." Zachar said as she sat down. "Any idea how?"

"No, but I'd bet at least one of us in this room does." She couldn't feel Rill's eyes on her, but he could feel the writhing of his presence, betraying the kor's discomfort. She looked to him. "What's wrong? You know him?"

Rill grunted. "He had a different body, back then." His lower deepened, the grip on his upper arm tightening. "His name is Drusus Catius. He is— _was—_ a Planeswalker from Nirn. He Sparked before the Mending. Long before."

Maera resisted the urge to smack her head into the console in front of her. Instead, she pushed her glasses up her forehead and rubbed her eyes. "Of _course_. Of course the big problem is caused by some pre-Mending looney trying to get his old power back. Now, who does that sound like..."

Rill grunted, and Maera heard him shift. She peered at him in time to see his expression sour. "'Looney' is putting it mildly. You know the expression a lot of us old 'walkers use, 'we were gods once'?"

"Yeah. Bolas might've mentioned it on Amonkhet, right before he kicked our collective asses."

"It's true. But some...some took it too far. Some, like Catius, became convinced that they really _were_ gods." Rill ran a hand through his hair. "Most old 'walkers who were worshipped as gods by the planesbound were well aware that they were _not_ gods. They never bothered convincing their followers otherwise; it stroked their egos. And, often, kept people from trying to kill them."

"That's impossible." Dione said from where she was leaning against the bulkhead. "Gods are beings created from the collected faith of their followers. If they don't have worshippers, they cease to exist. Gods can't have Sparks."

"You know that, I know that—everyone in this room knows that." Rill leaned back in his seat, chair creaking. "But that man, calling Maera 'Messiah', doesn't. His mind broke when his Spark ignited, and he's convinced he's a deity. Believe me, I've tried correcting him...as have Dane, Karr, Sorin...and Allandir."

Now it was Maera's turn to cross her arms. "Great. An insane oldwalker who thinks he's a god. Now why doesn't that sound very comforting?"

"It shouldn't." Rill blew out a breath through his nose. "I suspect the reason he's been redirecting his plane's leylines is an attempt to re-ignite his Spark. Get an entire plane's worth of mana flowing through you, and either your Spark will ignite or _you_ will."

"He has to be using a device to do so." Maera jumped; Zachar hadn't spoken for so long that she'd forgotten he was there. "I don't know any spell that can reroute entire leylines, not to this extent."

Rill made a sound deep in his throat. "Probably. But any artifact wouldn't last very long. His eyes slid from the viewscreen back to Maera. "It's likely why he wants his hands on _you_. You've got abilities that weren't even seen _before_ the Mending. You're what's called a Living Aritfac; you can change the color of mana to whatever you need, without the use of a device—and even act as a conduit for that mana. Even before the Mending, those abilities were theoretical; many archmages didn't think that your ability set could exist"

"'The impossible has a charm that the merely improbable lacks'," Maera quoted. She knew about her being a Living Artifact; more than once she'd used it to screw with someone she was fighting, often to hilarious results. "I like fucking with people."

"Yeah, I noticed." The kor groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Be serious for once. This man needs something—some _one_ , in this case—who can handle the immense amount of power he'd be channeling. Most artifacts and people would break under the strain."

"What makes you certain _I_ wouldn't?"

"I'm not." Rill said. "But you're the most powerful Planeswalker since the Mending. You've upended a _lot_ of assumptions about what mages can do by being a Living Artifact. The amount of raw power you can wield is immense, even by pre-Mending standards. If you'd been born a few decades earlier, you could have easily outmatched Bolas or Urza in power."

Maera chewed the inside of her cheek. He wasn't _wrong_ about the amount of power she could throw around. And it hadn't been the first time she'd been called the 'most powerful Planeswalker since the Mending'. Whatever that meant. She rubbed her eyes again, the headache from earlier making a return. Pre- or Post-Mending, Planeswalkers were still the most powerful mages around. She'd seen what they could do in both eras, and she'd seen firsthand what happened when a Planeswalker went _wrong._

And recently, she'd found out what happened when an oldwalker decided to get serious. She'd lost an arm and while she'd managed to mostly untangle her mana lines, there were still snarls to work out.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and started. She looked up; it was Szordree. "Your hair's glowing, and it's starting to snow. Whatever you're thinking, it might be better to let us know than bottle it up, yeah? Punching holes in wall isn't advisable in space."

Maera couldn't stop the laugh snorting its way out. "I'm pretty sure duranium is harder than my fist." She said, shrugging the drow's hand away. "Ye gods, sometimes I wish I didn't have such a hard-on to protect people. It'd be a _lot_ easier to just nope out and hang out on Ravnica. And by 'hang out' I mean 'hide from Belinda till she cools down from being homicidal'."

"If you didn't have that hard-on, you wouldn't have joined the Gatewatch in the first place and ended up in this mess." Dione pointed out, sounding way too cheerful. Without opening her eyes, Maera shot a middle finger in the direction of the dunmer's voice. She got a snort in return.

"My question is, how do you know him?" Zachar asked, and Maera cracked an eye. "And who's this Allandir he was talking about? How'd he know about Maera?"

Rill blew out a breath, running his hand through his hair. Again. "That's...a long story. One where I'm not sure where to start."

"Maybe the beginning?"

Rill gruned at Maera's suggestion, crossing his arms. "Like I said; long story. It'd take a while to go through the whole thing."

"We can make time." That was Szordree.

"If we're going to be running into this guy's headquarters at some point, I'd rather know what we're dealing with rather than go in blind." Added Dione.

"And whatever happened way back who-knows-when, it's involving _my plane_ now." Maera head a double _thump_ as Zachar propped his feet up on the console. "If someone's trying to blow up my home, I want to know."

Another sigh from Rill. "All right. Get yourselves some coffee, you're going to need it."

* * *

 **Wheee, more exposition coming up! Hope this little comical breather into Maera's first hangover wasn't _too_ out of place with things, but let's be honest; _everyone_ experiences at least _one_ really bad hangover in their life, best just get it over with right away, right?**

 **In any case, next chapter we'll see a little bit more history of this Drasus Catius character, and how he intersects with Maera's bloodline...**

 **Keep reading, y'all!**


	17. Pre-Mending Messes

**So it's been an eternity since my last update. Oops.**

 **Anyway, thanks go out to Shadow48, Driver3169, and fixerbacta for favorites and follows! And, as usual, to AGM for their review; the reason why Cryptoliths and Hedrons didn't come up was Drasus is stuck on Etrides with no way to get either from Zendikar. As for th Xenagos situation...he has no idea that Xenagos exists, or about the whole ascending to godhood thing. For that matter, neither do the _rest_ of our cast X'D**

 **Anyway, on to the chapter. Y'all know the drill by now; if you recognize it, it isn't mine.**

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen**

 **Pre-Mending Messes**

" **About** two thousand years ago, Drasus Catius was a cleric in Tamriel. Powerful, yes, and power-hungry. But not insane. Not yet."

They were no longer in the cockpit, having adjourned to the mess. A newsfeed was playing on the screen, but none of the five Planeswalkers were paying it any attention. It was simply there for background noise, as Rill explained the incident involving Drasus Catius. "He'd been experimenting with using necromancy for healing—and before any of you start calling bullshit, it's not the first time someone has. It's tricky but possible, and I don't know how it works.

"In any case, it was during those experiments when his Spark ignited. He'd been trying a new enchantment of his, attempting to use the life force of a dying volunteer to repair a broken bone when something went...awry. He Sparked, and ended up on Innistrad. Allandir and I had been there at the time, trying to track down Sorin after he and a couple other 'Walkers had trapped the Eldrazi on Zendikar."

Maera nodded, knowing all about the Eldrazi; a few thousand years ago, three ancient Planeswalkers trapped the Eldrazi titans on Zendikar using a plane-wide hedron network. Almost a year ago, the Gatewatch had managed to destroy two of them—and annoy Ugin in the process—and imprisoned the third in Innistrad's silver moon. Ugin had given the five of them a lecture, and Maera chalked it up to him being pissed that he couldn't figure out how to just end the things while at the height of his power while a bunch of 'kids' _did._

She brought the train of thought to a halt as Rill continued. "Long story short, none of our group—myself, Amanisa, Allandir, Dane, Lini, or Karr—had heard from him, Nahiri, or Ugin in a long time, and we were getting worried. Hence why we had split up and gone looking. _That_ was how we ran into Drasus right after he became a Planeswalker."

"Did he land on your face?" Rill gave her a long-suffering look, and Maera shrugged. "Oh come on, it's not the first time a 'walker's been a landing pad. I fell on Jace."

"No, and let me finish before you come up with any smartass remarks." Maera stuck her tongue out, but Rill only gave er a glower before continuing. "He was, understandably, confused. I can tell you from experience, most new 'walkers don't have the luxury of landing near any other Planeswalkers, and they usually have to figure it out on their own as a result. So when a confused young Cyrodiilic 'walks almost right under our noses, you can understand why we'd want to help."

Again, Maera nodded. She'd been lucky enough to be privy to the reality of Planeswalkers since high school, so she'd had _some_ idea of what had happened when she Sparked. It didn't stop it from being a jarring experience, but she'd been aware enough to know that she wasn't in Illinois anymore.

It still hadn't stopped her dropping about fifty feet onto Jace when she popped onto Ravnica. She cringed inwardly; she hadn't been _trying_ to land on the unfortunate mind mage, but she still felt bad about it.

"I assume that at the time, you didn't know what would come of it." Zachar said.

Rill shook his head. "As they say, hindsight is always 20/20." He replied. "It was years before we saw Drasus's ambition turning to insanity, and by then it was too late.

"As you know, Maera, someone's Spark igniting can also trigger new abilities. Your Living Artifact ability, for example; it wasn't something you could do before, was it?"

Maera shook her head. "And I'll have you know that I blew a _lot_ of shit while figuring it out. I didn't know that green mana _could_ explode."

Rill groaned. " _Anyway_ , that's what happened with Drasus. When his Spark ignited, so did his ability as an oracle. Similar to Karr Ivoring, he can see into the future. But unlike Karr, he doesn't need the aid of gemstones to do so, and it's less reliable. When he sees his 'prophecies', there's no indication of the when or where they'll happen, if at all."

"Oh, Nocturnal. I see where this is going." Dione groaned, rubbing her eyes. "Certain people notwithstanding, oracles aren't exactly known for their mental stability. There is _no_ way combining questionable sanity with pre-Mending power ends well."

"And you're not wrong." Rill deadpanned. "If Drasus had been leaning towards the edge before his Spark igniting, that combined with the godlike power before the Mending pushed him over the edge. It didn't take long before he got it in his head that he truly _was_ a god, not simply a lucky mortal gifted with it by chance. He began to believe that his previous life as a human had simply been a prelude to his 'ascension' to godhood."

"When a Planeswalker goes mad, follow the chaos." Szordree quoted. He wiped a hand down his face. "Not a benevolent wannabe deity, then."

"No." Rill's eyes were distant. "As Allandir, myself and the others saw the turn Drasus was making, we attempted to pull him back to reality. But he was already too far gone, and the harder we tried to remind him that despite the godlike power _we were not gods_ , the more he refused to hear it. In the end, there was a confrontation that resulted in him fleeing here to Etrides and setting himself up as a god of destruction, intending to lead the rest of the plane to the ascension he'd achieved."

"Except that even _before_ the Mending, not everyone was born with a Spark." Maera mused. "And since then, Sparks have become even _rarer_. Literally one in a _billion,_ if that."

"Everyone here knows that. As does every Planeswalker who's got most of their marbles." Rill's perpetual scowl deepened, if that was possible. "Drasus, unfortunately, was—is— _not_ that sane. His intention was to use his power to tear a hole through this plane's reality, letting in the Blind Eternities to rip this universe apart."

"But you stopped him." Zachar piped up again. "How? How's what happened on Etrides back then connected to what's happening _now_? Other than the Bleeders."

Rill sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. "One of our group, Allandir MacNielle was half faerie and a Planeswalker. Like Maera." He pinned her with a look, and Maera squirmed. "He's her ancestor, and the one she inherited her faerie blood from. He's also the one who came to Etrides to stop Drasus's apocalypse.

"It goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway; large enough events—usually ones involving a Planeswalker, unsurprisingly—can affect the Blind Eternities. It's not as common now, but it happened a _lot_ before the Mending. In a way, the chaos we old 'walkers got up to was _why_ the Mending had to happen; it just took us too damn long to see the damage we were doing until it was almost too late." He crossed his arms, frowning. "Ripping a plane open and laying it bare to the Blind Eternities is one of those things. As far as Drasus was concerned, doing so would bring the people of the plane to the same godlike level he was, allowing Etrides to continue to exist in a more perfect state.

"In reality, it would have destroyed the plane and sent ripples through the Multiverse, potentially ripping holes in _other_ planes and causing who knew what kind of destruction. Many 'walkers at the time wouldn't have cared, just saying the plane could be re-made. Allandir, however, did. And, as he was one of the first Planeswalkers Drasus had encountered, he felt personally responsible for the situation that had resulted, and followed him here to finish it.

"I went with, but the final fight was between Allandir and Drasus. Tell me, Zachar," The vedalken perked up as Rill addressed him. "Are there any sort of unexplained phenomena on Etrides, ones that don't seem to have any plausible explanation?"

"Yeah." Zachar put his feet up on the table and leaned his chair onto its back legs. Maera resisted the urge to pull the chair _all_ the way down; that would be mean. "The Yandeer Anomaly. It's like a big blank spot in the middle of the sky. When a ship enters it just...pops out the other side, no signs of time having passed or it or that it covered any distance. The math of the place doesn't work out."

Rill grunted. "That would be because of the fight between Drasus and Allandir."

The rest of them gaped—well, everyone except Szordree did. Maera, Zachar and Dione stared. "You're kidding." Zachar sounded like he'd been kicked in the chest.

Rill shook his head. "The amount of destruction Planeswalkers are capable of now is _nothing_ compared to before the Mending. Spacial anomalies, moons broken in half, star systems out of phase...small accidents, for people with the powers of gods."

"He's right, you know." Maera turned to see Szordree tapping a bicep. "There's whole _planes_ that have been created and destroyed by Planeswalkers. Subtlety is _not_ our strong suit."

"Some less so than others." Dione's tone carried a raised eyebrow with it, and Maera stuck her tongue out at her.

"Back on topic," Rill spoke up, ending the metaphorical pissing contest before it could begin. "Allandir couldn't kill Drasus, not without risking the plane's destruction anyway. So, rather than causing what he was trying to prevent, he sealed Drasus's Spark—effectively taking away his abilities as a Planeswalker. He was mortal again, and bound to Etrides. It wasn't the solution that either of us had been hoping for, but it was a permanent one...or, we'd thought so at the time."

"And the Bleeder cult got started as a result." Zachar said, running a finger along his chin. "Their whole religion is centered around opening Etrides to their 'blissful Eternity', or something like that. Sounds a _lot_ like what Drasus Catius was trying to do back then."

Rill grunted again. "Likely." He rubbed his forehead, eyes closed. "Ordinarily, Drasus should have died a _long_ time ago, unless his Spark re-ignited—which, seeing as Etrides is still here, it doesn't seem to have done. Instead, it looks like he fell back on his necromantic skills to figure out a way to transfer his soul from one living body to another, making himself the next best thing to immortal. Looks like it worked."

"How'd you tell it was Catius from the feed, though?" Maera asked. "He was wearing a breathing mask, and if he's in a different body now he'll look a _lot_ different."

The kor nodded slowly, eyes still closed. "His eyes still look the same," he said softly. "Seems _that_ doesn't change no matter how often he changes bodies."

Silence reigned for several long minutes as Rill's story sunk in. Maera sipped at her cup of tea, digesting the tale. _And I'm key to Drasus's plan._ She thought. _Likely because of my being a Living Artifact._ "You said he's an oracle. He saw me coming to Etrides, didn't he?"

Rill blew out a sigh, leaning back in his chair. "Unless you've been here before." Maera shook her head. "And you were born _well_ after the Mending."

"And my Spark ignited a grand total of five years ago." She continued. Now it was her turn to rub a hand down her face. "Well, shit. This is a problem."

"No, really?" Zachar deadpanned. He turned to Rill. "So, how do we stop him?"

The bluntness of the vedalken's question caught Rill off-guard. "I'm sorry?"

"This Drasus is trying use the destruction of _my_ plane to re-ignite his Spark." Zachar pointed to himself with his thumb. "And I kind of don't like people screwing with my home. I kind of like it here, so I'd rather not watch it get blown to pieces."

"I've seen planes fall apart. I don't want to see it again." Szordree added.

"I don't want to see a plane destroyed in the first place. Especially not while I'm on it." That was Dione.

Maera set down her tea and crossed her arms. "And this fucker probably isn't going to stop when he's able to Planeswalk again." She said. "Plus, there's a big difference between now and two thousand years ago."

Rill raised an eyebrow at her. "And that is?"

A smirk spread across Maera's face. "He's mortal now. Even if he _does_ manage to Spark out again, a bullet to the head will still put him down."

Maera was aware of the others staring at her. She could _feel_ the weight of those words, even after she'd spoken them. _I've never gone into a fight with the intention to kill anyone before._ She thought, the realization of what her own words meant sinking in. _Yet here I am, talking about putting a bullet in this crazy old 'walkers head. What changed?_ She glanced to the blue-green construct that was her right arm.

 _Is this what Allandir meant by the end of my summer?_

 _...I'm scared. Of what this means._

"We'll need a plan." Rill said. "Something _other_ than 'kick down the front door and kill the bad guy'." The deadpan glare he pinned on Maera wasn't lost on the artificer, and she squirmed.

"Right." Dione leaned her elbows on the table. "Zachar, do you think you can trace where Drasus's signal came from?"

Zachar tapped his chin. "Maybe...it'd be damn hard with no active connection, though."

" _Isn't that why you have me? I know you're an excellent hacker, Zach, but sometimes there's just something you can't handle on your own."_

"We'll have to lay everything out for the others on this ship, too." Szordree added. "They know about Planeswalkers, and I'm pretty sure they won't want to get dragged into something they'd rather avoid."

"Ganneth will bitch the whole way, and I can guarantee that Tone will complain about the injuries we'll come back with." Zachar added in.

A muscle worked in Maera's jaw. There was one more thing that had been eating at her since... _then_. Since she and Bels had been pulled back in time, all thanks to an old journal that had been found in some of Amanisa Dragon-speaker's possessions. A journal that had been written by Allandir, and contained _her_ handwriting.

Before sacrificing himself to seal the archdemon Briix away, Allandir had passed his staff on to her. He hadn't told her why it was so damned important then, only that she'd figure it out when she needed to. Guy hadn't even given her any hints other than that shit-eating smile of his—which looked _freakishly_ like hers. There wasn't even anything about it in the damn journal, and she'd gone over it only the gods knew how many times since.

 _And I'm going to need all the answers I can get if I'm going to be finishing something he couldn't._

Maera glanced at her watch, then rubbed at her eyes. _Shit. Five in the morning...no wonder I'm starting to feel dead._ She stood, cracking her back as she did. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm going to go collapse before I faceplant on the table." She said, starting for the door. "Sleep-deprived does not a good game plan make."

 _And if we're going to take on an insane, pre-Meding oldwalker, I'm going to need all the answers I can get._

 **-XXX-**

" **H** ere. You look like you need it."

Maera looked over, following the arm up to the familiar face of Taibhse. He was handing her a beer. "Thanks." She popped the top and took a swig. It tasted like a brew she'd had on Nirn, the last time she'd been there for Belinda's birthday. She hummed her approval. "So. You know what's going down."

"Yep." Taibhse sat down beside her, legs hanging off the roof. "And it's insane."

"I know."

"You're probably going to end up just as fucked up as after Amonkhet, you know."

Maera grunted. "That's why I'm going to get some answers." She said. She looked to the staff lying next to her on the roof, the aquamarine crystal held in the top glowing softly. "Allandir never explained _why_ this staff was so important. Why he felt he had to pass it on to me, rather than going against Briix with it. He only told me that it 'felt right', and that I'd know 'when I needed to know'." Her mouth twisted in annoyance. "Ugh...why do old 'walkers have to do the whole mysterious thing? It's annoying."

Taibhse snorted. "Probably to make themselves feel more impressive than the actually are." He replied. "The whole getting their egos stroked and whatnot."

Maera rolled her eyes. She fingered the staff with her free hand. "Feels like more than that, though." She mused, before taking a swig of her beer. Something in the back of her mind wondered if she could get drunk in her own inner world, but she dismissed it. This was _her_ world. If she didn't want to get blitzed, she was pretty certain it wouldn't happen. "This staff...it's more than just a magical focus, it has to be. It's got some other power than just making my spells easier to cast. Just wish Allandir would've given me clue as to _what._ "

"Mnh." Taibhse mulled over her words, sipping at his own beer as he did so. After a long silence, he replied with, "Maybe asking _him_ would divulge some answers?"

Maera was mid-swig when she stopped and stared at him. Lowering the bottle from her mouth she said, in the most deadpan voice she could, "What."

"Ask him." He repeated. "It's more than it appears, that much is certain. _I_ can feel it, which is why I know _you_ can." A finger idly tapped his beer bottle. "I'm surprised you haven't tried asking him yourself."

Maera blinked at him slowly. "Allandir is sealed in a crystal. In _Scotland_. In a cave. Which is surrounded by a radius where _no magic can be used at all._ And he's been there for the last seventeen hundred years. It's not like I can 'walk there, stroll up, knock on the door and ask him what's up." _As much as I wish I could right now._

Taibhse shook his head, chuckling softly in amusement. "Not _quite_ that literal." The corner of his mouth was turned up in an annoying smile, and he turned to look at someone behind him. "I think _you_ can explain better than I can."

Maera raised an eyebrow at him, but Taibhse had an innocent look on his face. Rolling her eyes she turned to look behind them, to see who he'd been talking to.

And promptly dropped her beer.

 _He_ was standing there, smirking like the smug bastard he was. Allandir MacNielle, the half-faerie Planeswalker she was descended from, was standing on the roof of her house with his arms loosely crossed, dressed in the same tunic and trousers as the last time she'd seen him. He had the same pale skin and freckles as Maera, his shoulder-length dark brown hair hanging loose, and his hazel eyes glittered mischievously.

And he was in her inner world.

 _What the hells is he doing here?!_

Still smiling, Allandir waved a hand. "Evening." He said, a Scottish accent coloring his speech. "As they say in your time, long time no see."

Maera was still gaping. Next to her, she heard Taibhse choke off a snicker, but she ignored it. Right now, she was too busy being fixated on _her ancestor in her inner world._ Her _sealed away_ ancestor.

The same ancestor who'd taken a demon into _his own body_ to stop. Who'd then sealed _himself_ in a magical prison on their home plane.

She blinked. "What. The actual. _Fuck._ "

Allandir dropped his hand and shook his head. He addressed Taibhse. "Is she broken?"

"Depends on what you mean by 'broken'. If you're talking about fucking insane, then yes. Very. If you're talking about if her brain crashed...I dunno. I haven't found her power button yet to do a restart."

Maera kicked him. " _Not. Helping._ " She snarled, the young man grinning. She stood, turning to Allandir. "What the—? How're you here? The last time I saw you you were sealing Briix in your _body._ "

Her ancestor nodded, the sparkle in his eyes turning serious for a moment. "And since you're still here, I assume it worked."

Maera's brow furrowed. "You...don't remember?"

He shook his head. "I'm not _exactly_ Allandir MacNielle." He replied. "I'm a shadow, an impression. A message in a bottle, as it were." He nodded to the staff. "I left it when I passed me staff on to you. A way for me to help you fully understand what I left you, even after the...deed was done."

Maera picked up the staff, wood warm in her hands. The runes etched along its length flickering. "Why wait till now?"

"You didn't ask."

She scowled at him. And Taibhse. "You two _sure_ you haven't met?"

Taibhse choked on another laugh. "Nope." Maera stuck her tongue out at him.

"That's only a small part. The real answer is you haven't had to." The response returned Maera's attention back to Allandir. "The fact that you're asking _now_ shows that you know you're in over your head. Good to know you've got more brains than that."

Maera rolled her eyes. "Please don't tell me that's all you left..."

He shook his head. "That isn't just a staff." He said. He pointed to the softly-glowing aquamarine at the top of her staff. "And _that_ isn't an ordinary enchanted stone. It's a data crystal...my spellbook."

Maera opened her mouth, but didn't respond right away. And then it sunk in. "Wait, that means..."

"I recorded every spell I knew in that crystal, from every _plane_ I'd been to. Hundreds...thousands of spells." He smiled. "And in case you're wondering if I made the right choice...I believe I did."

She stood there and blinked dumbly. Then, because she wasn't sure if she could believe it, she touched the power in the staff.

 _He's right._ Maera thought, and the apparition grinned. _This really does contain every single spell he knew. Every single one, from almost three thousand years of Planeswalking._

And he'd just given it away. To _her._

 _Holy. Shit. Belinda, you were right; I must've made a hell of an impression on Allandir, for him to give me this._

"Aye." Allandir's eyes were soft. "You did, my girl. I wasn't lying when I said you had only scratched the surface of what you could do. And I certainly wasn't when I wrote that note and left you my ring." He paused. "Be careful taking on Drasus, Maera. He's insane, extremely powerful, and smart. He might not be a Planeswalker anymore, but he's still strong enough to kill you with a blink if you let your guard down."

Maera shifted awkwardly. "I know. Rill told me."

Allandir nodded. "I wish I could've told you this in person." His image starts to dissipate from the feet up. "Hells, I wish I could be there in person."

"I have no intentions on getting myself killed by Catius."

"I know. That's not why." His face was sad. "Good luck, Maera. That's all I can give you, now."

The last of her ancestor's image disappeared into dust, and Maera knew that that last message had been deleted. Idly she rubbed her thumb along a patch of wood, digesting the conversation...and the new knowledge of what she'd inherited.

"Um, Maera?"

Maera started and looked over; Taibhse was standing, a funny look on his face. His brows were knitted and furrowed, and his mouth was downturned in a frown. Damn...she must've zoned out bigtime, to forget he was there. She shook her head. "I'm fine.

"Taibhse...I think I have an idea..."


	18. This is a Horrible Idea

**Update two of the day. One last chapter to update today~**

 **And I don't own Magic: The Gathering or anything else by WotC. Anything you recognize isn't mine, I just created this world for a character arc and shenanigans.**

* * *

 **Chapter Eighteen**

 **This is a Horrible Idea**

" **This** is a horrible idea."

Maera sighed inwardly. She knew he'd say that.

Looking around at the group, she saw the same sentiment on their faces. _'Told you they'd say that.'_ Piped up Taibhse.

Well...he was right. Even _Maera_ knew this was a bad idea, and she was the person who'd come up with it. There was a pre-Mending 'walker missing some screws trying to literally _break a plane_ ,and he was planning on using her to do it. And she was planning on walking in his front door and saving him the trouble.

So, yeah. It really was a bad plan. It was also the one that was least likely to blow up in their faces.

 _'Isn't that what Gideon said about Amonkhet? Something about Bolas not expecting you to do the dumbest thing possible.'_

 _Shut up, you're not helping_

 _'I'm not here to help. I'm here to be your common sense.'_

 _There's a pre-Mending Planeswalker running around who doesn't have all his marbles. I don't think common sense is really going to apply._

 _'That doesn't mean you need to go doing insane shit either.'_

Maera gave Taibhse the mental equivalent of a stuck-out tongue. Rill's scowl was, if possible, even deeper than normal. Dione was looking at her as if she'd said she was going to go jump into a nest of hornets. Szordree looked like he'd rather spend a few nights at Freddy Fazbear's, without pay. Zachar, the one who'd pointed out that her idea was a _really_ bad one, didn't reveal much from his expression—but the guy's eyebrow was twitching, which for the vedalken meant he was about two seconds from exploding.

Oh boy...he was _not_ going to take the rest of the explanation very well. _Maybe I should've asked Tone to sneak a sedative into his coffee or something. Might keep him from blowing his stack._

Speaking of the aetherborn, they were facepalming. They wiped their hand down their face and said, "And I thought _Zachar_ was prone to bouts of insanity. Is it just the ones on this ship, or are all Planeswalkers this bad?"

Maera thought for a second. "...Nah, we're all pretty much broken on some level." She said, shrugging. Then the image of Ral dancing naked on top of Nivix during a lightning storm after he'd had _way_ too much to drink popped into her head. "...some more than others." _I am never letting Ral anywhere near booze on game night again._

That was something she would forever regret, and something the entire Tenth would have trouble scouring from its collective memory for a _long_ time.

 _'I feel the need to remind you that you were also a little tipsy, and I believe you mentioned something about a "really nice ass".'_

 _Shut. Up. I was not as drunk as Ral, and I wasn't the only one looking._

 _'Do you have any idea what you sound like right now?'_

 _Oh be quiet._ She pushed _that_ conversation to the back of her mind as she blew out a breath. "Soooo, I know it sounds crazy, but—"

"It _is_ crazy." Dione interrupted. "You're planning on walking up to the front door of an oldwalker, one whom I may point out is _insane_ , and basically saying 'here I am, going to help you end the world'." She paused. "Now, tell me again _how_ that doesn't sound like a _really bad fucking idea._ "

Maera winced. Rill raised an eyebrow at Dione. "'Oldwalker'?"

"Less of a mouthful than saying 'pre-Mending Planeswalker' all the time. Means you old farts." The dunmer replied.

Rill just sat back with a soft _harumph_ , while Szordree protested with a, "Hey! I'm only 752 years old here!"

"Which still makes you an old fart." Dione's deadpan reply sent the pyromancer sputtering again, but she ignored it as she pinned her glare back on Maera. "But _that_ isn't the point here. The point is that _you_ are pulling a Belinda."

Maera raised an eyebrow at her. "What makes you say that?"

"Because Bels _also_ does insane, crazy-ass shit that makes the rest of us sane people wonder _wtf is wrong with you._ " Dione pinched the bridge of her nose. "And right now, I am indeed wondering _what the hell is wrong with you._ "

"Seconded." Tone raised their hand, chin resting in the other one.

"Thirded." Ganneth and Nasala said in unison.

"Powers damn it...this is the stupidest, riskiest, most insane plan I've every heard of." Zachar groaned, rubbing his eyes. "And before any of you say anything, I know I'm the pot calling the kettle black here so shut up right now."

" _I_ wasn't going to say such a thing." Tone said, shrugging. "Mostly because it'd be stating the obvious."

Zachar flipped them off.

Rill was rubbing his eyes with thumb and forefinger. "Nasala, what's the status on your cousin's end?"

Nasala blew out a breath. "The aether stream's been destabilized too much to handle the smaller convoy. A few smaller ships have gone on ahead to alert other travelers and ports who haven't gotten the message via the 'net yet." She replied. "But none of the main ships can jump."

Rill grunted. "What about this one?" He tapped the table as he spoke.

" _So far the threshold's not too low for me to jump. I don't know how long that'll last though, or for how long we'll be able to remain in FTL before we have to leave to prevent getting thrown out." Sleipnir_ replied. _"Please tell me you're not considering this..."_

"The only other plans we've got involve going off-plane and tracking down backup." Rill replied. "And at the rate these streams are deteriorating, I don't think time is something we have a lot of."

Zachar sat back in his chair, scowling down at the table's surface. "I still don't like the idea of you," he nodded to Maera, "just handing yourself over to this guy. If he's as much of a maniac as Rill says—"

"He is." Rill supplied helpfully.

"Then you don't know what he'll likely do. And I'm pretty sure you won't _want_ to know."

Maera crossed her arms over her chest and put her feet up on the table. "I do know _one_ thing he'll want," she said. "My abilities as a Living Artifact. I can change colors of mana and effectively act as a living magical focus. It's broken-as-hell, and it doesn't work very well if I'm switching from or to a color I can't control very well. Like green."

X'vir cocked his head. "Why's that?"

"Because I've got zero talent whatsoever with any green-powered spells. The tend to go...sideways. Badly. It's how I found out that green mana really _can_ explode." Maera shrugged. "Red to blue or blue to white is a _lot_ easier."

The Azeran's eyes crossed. "That's...confusing."

" _That's_ a Living Artifact." Rill said. "And not only is it proof that we don't know all the rules of magic, it's also the ability Drasus wants. He's going to need it to go through with his plan. An ordinary artifact, no matter how powerful, would inevitably break under the strain of directing an entire plane's worth of mana."

"And it wouldn't have the precision." Szordree added. "With an artifact, you've got to have someone _right there_ to monitor it. Unless we're talking about Karn—who doesn't even count as an artifact anyway, because of the whole sentience thing—you don't get that with any sort of artifice."

"Which is why I still say this is a _really bad idea._ " Zachar insisted. And if she was honest, Maera agreed; this idea was a very, _very_ bad one.

But, barring a miracle (and from what she'd seen, Etrides didn't have gods), the only other option was one or more of them 'walking to other planes for reinforcements. And that would take time to organize, and they couldn't exactly take the risk of doing that—not if there was a very real chance of Etrides getting ripped wide open in the meantime.

Scanning the others' faces, she saw that they realized it too. They didn't like it, but they saw the logic in it.

Even if that logic was even shakier than calling for backup.

But, again; backup would take too long.

" _I do hope you don't mind me pointing out that none of this is a good idea." Sleipnir_ was the first to pipe up with common sense. _"And I'd like to point out that by far the smartest thing to do is just not get involved with this, yes? Keep our noses out of the business of a planeswalking lunatic."_

Rill scowled at the ceiling. _"Formerly_ planeswalking lunatic, you sentient tin can."

" _Tin can?! I'm a highly advanced AI capable of maintaining life support, running FTL, managing engine power and efficiency, powering weapons and shields—when necessary, of course—monitoring passive sensors for nearby obstacles or hostiles, carrying on multiple conversations, hacking the 'net, and making your morning steak and egg omelet at the same time you tentacle-faced nitwit!"_

" _Nitwit?!_ You're _damn_ lucky you're a ship, you son of a—"

Maera and Dione caught the monk before he could cause any damage, Maera grabbing the man's belt and Dione clocking him on top of the head. " _No denting the asshole computer._ " The dunmer snarled. "Especially since it's running the ship _we're in right now._ "

"And I'd take more than a little offense if you broke my ship." Zachar added in. "Grumpy old man or not, pull dumb shit and you're out the airlock."

Rill growled, but sat back down. The two women let go of him as he settled back in his seat, the scowl back on his face and his arms once again crossed. "And you wonder _why_ I hate these metal bubbles."

" _For the record, I'm not the ship. I just run its systems." Sleipnir_ piped up. _"I suppose you could say it's my body. In reality, I exist as a sentient computer program in the ship's central core computer. And Zachar can upload me to that gauntlet of his and take me with him when he goes off-plane or someplace. So I don't really have a physical form at all."_ A pause. _"Though I have to agree with the tin can part. This thing is a miserable bucket of bolts if I ever saw one..."_

Zachar banged a fist on the wall he was leaning his chair against. "Hey. Shut it. You may be running the systems, but you're still _my ship_ , asshole."

" _Need I remind you that I keep your engine from exploding?"_

"Need _I_ remind you who can upload you to my gauntlet and mute you?" The vedalken raised an eyebrow, and _Sleipnir_ didn't respond. "Thought so."

" _You could at least have the exhaust vents cleaned out more than once a decade. Do you have any idea how corroded they are? And one of them has gotten a—"_

" _Okay_ , back on topic." Zachar interrupted _Sleipnir_ 's complaint. "Since we're apparently taking on this nutcase one way or another, we need to find him." He dropped his chair back down onto all fours with a dull _clang_. "Unless Maera's ancestor locked him in a vault when he sealed his Spark, I can't see anyone with any brains staying in a place that's a physics dead zone."

"That's our next problem." Rill's eyes slid to Maera for a moment, and she resisted the urge to squirm in her seat. "If his Spark were still ignited, we might be able to locate him relatively easily, though it'd still require one of us to leave the plane..."

"But he's not a Planeswalker anymore." Nasala finished for him. Rill nodded. "Is there a way to trace his magical essence without him being one of you?"

Rill's mouth went into a thin line. "Technically? Yes...but on a plane where mages are widespread, it's near impossible to pick one mage out of the billions."

"Or trillions." Maera added. Rill scowled, and she shrugged. "What? It's a fuckton either way." She leaned forward on the table, putting her weight on her elbows and biting her thumbnail. _There's got to be an easier way to do this._...

Almost as if in response, the staff leaning against the wall behind her glowed. The stone at the top flashed a soft light, and the runes along its length rippled. She looked at it out of the corner of her eye and frowned. _There's not a spell that broken stored in there, is there?_

The shimmer hadn't been missed by Rill, who gave her a similar sidelong look. She returned it an raised an eyebrow, shrugging. "Rill...exactly _how_ many spells did Allandir store in his staff?"

Zachar had been about ready to open his mouth to speak, but he closed it again with a snap. Then, "What?"

"What he said." Nasala said.

"I'm missing something here." Szordree added.

X'vir dropped his head to the table. "I give up trying to understand you weirdos." He groaned. "And before _anyone_ says it, yes I see the irony."

Rill's mouth went into a thin line again. "You figured it out."

"Yep. Didn't even need anyone to tell me."

 _'Bullshit.'_

 _Shut up._

Rill hummed, rubbing his chin. "I honestly don't know." He replied at length. "Allandir and I didn't meet until well after we'd become Planeswalkers. And by that time, he had already crafted his staff." A beat. "It's likely most, if not _all_ , of the spells he knew."

"Which, considering how he was almost two thousand years old when he gave it to me, is a _lot_ to look through." Maera mused, tapping her chin.

 _'It's not like you won't have an idea of what to look for, though.'_

 _Hmm..._ Well, Taibhse wasn't _wrong_. And they _were_ talking about pre-Mending spells here. The only question was if she'd even be able to cast them with a regular Spark...

"I've got an alternate idea, you don't mind." Zachar spoke slowly, choosing each of his words carefully. "We send _him_ a message, just as he sent us one."

A pause. Then, "I'm not particularly fond of the idea of jamming up comm frequencies to broadcast a threat of our own, being honest." Tone replied. "Not that I'm saying you're not capable of getting away with it, of course, but it still doesn't seem like the _smartest_ plan."

"I'm not saying we'll do _that_." Zachar fiddled with something on his gauntlet. "Just send _him_ the message. As he cut the connection, I managed to pin down the signal he was using, and the frequency. If I calibrate _Sleipnir_ 's comm right, we won't have to hijack an entire sector's comm traffic to get a message through."

"I thought you said you couldn't back-hack him?" Maera asked. "Did you pull an all-nighter and get his location?"

"No, but if I have his comm address I don't _need_ a location." The vedalken replied. "And a comm address is what I _do_ have, or at least most of it. It's enough to extrapolate the rest."

" _Unless he's pulled one of your tricks and used a dummy signal."_ _Sleipnir_ piped up.

"Already thought of that." Zachar raised an eyebrow. " _Never_ try and beat a master hacker at his own game, my friend. You should know this by now."

" _Yes. Beating hackers at their own game is what got you caught by the Inquisitorium, isn't it?"_

Maera saw a shadow pass over the vedalken's face briefly, but no other outward response to the dig. "All we need now," he said, ignoring the AI, "is the content of the message." He looked to Maera. "this is your half-cocked plan, after all. It make sense if you're the one who sets it off."

"Right," Maera pushed her chair out from the table. "Let's get this thing started."

 **-XXX-**

" _ **I** don't particularly care where you want this to go down; I'll likely be at a disadvantage either way. So the best bed is to just tell me where you are so I can break down your door and kick your ass myself."_ The woman on the screen smirked, her black lips twisting to show white teeth. _"After all, you've got such a hard-on after me anyway. Might as well save us both a lot of trouble."_

She slammed the staff down— _his_ staff, all but confirming his visions—and the screen went black. Drasus's own lip curled in a sneer, mirroring the smirk of the woman who'd sent the message. She hadn't shown her face; everything above her nose had been hidden by a deep hood. He hadn't seen most of her expression, but her stance was enough. She was ready for a fight.

This message hadn't been a question, asking for a meeting. It hadn't been an offer of truce or even a declaration to help him outright.

No, it had been a _threat_. A promise that, one way or another, she was going to come up to his front door and kick it in. And Drasus with it.

Just like Allandir had done, all those centuries ago...

He waved a hand, and the holographic screen vanished. He turned to the attendant standing next to the door. "Get me a line to Indril."

The attendant started. "Progenitor?"

"You heard me." Drasus fixed the attendant with a glare, and the man squirmed and looked away. Good. It wouldn't do him any good to have his followers questioning him when he was _so close_ , and he would _not_ let this opportunity pass. Not when his Messiah was, quite literally, _asking_ for him to make a move.

He was more than happy to oblige.

"Get me. A comm line. To Indril." He spelled it out, taking care to use small words that the inferior mind would be able to understand. "He may be an idiot and a brute, but in this case stealth will neither help nor hinder us. Not when the Messiah is _asking_ for us to show her the way, don't you think?"

The man hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "O-of course, Progenitor. I am certain that Master Indril will be more than pleased to do your will."

 _He'll be pleased to do anything, as long as it involves being a long-winded idiot and breaking things._ Drasus thought, but he kept it to himself; Indril might be an idiot, but the pirate had his uses. And, most importantly, he was loyal.

Albeit to a rather large fault. But it was a fervent loyalty nonetheless. And it was that loyalty that mattered right now, not his intelligence...or lack thereof. _Who knows, she might do me a favor and knock his head so hard his brain starts working._

Either that or get the idiot killed. Preferably _after_ serving his purpose, of course.

He crossed to the center of his sanctum in a few strides, to the pedestal upon which the orb sat. it had taken him more than a little... _convincing_ to obtain this particular artifact, but he had. It was nearly as big as his fist, crystalline, and shifted colors between red, to blue, to green, to silvery-white, to black and back again. Placing a had on it, he closed his eyes, feeling the thrum of the plane's leylines.

 _It's been centuries, but the second stage is finally able to begin._ He thought. _I'll be able to begin opening the Eternities with this, but it won't survive the strain; not for as long as it will require. It will break before I can ascend again._

He removed his hand. _Come to me, Maera Hellion._

 _Assist me in leaving this world._


	19. Waiting and Baiting

**And update number three!**

 **Same disclaimer as the last two; I don't own Magic. This would be canon if I did. Nor do I own Dungeons & Dragons, or the works of R.A. Salvatore.**

* * *

 **Chapter Nineteen**

 **Waiting and Baiting**

 _ **'You're** sure you want to do this? It's risky.'_ Taibhse had voiced the same concern at least half a dozen times, and by now Maera was about ready to enter her inner world herself and smack him upside the head. She didn't, though, focusing on trying to make sense of the chart Zachar had given her.

 _Yes, I'm sure. It's either wait till he feels like ripping the plane wide open, or baiting him out to us. Personally, I'd rather be the one to do the door-kicking. Next best thing to home field advantage, I guess._

 _'Hey, I'm just making sure you've thought everything through here. Running headlong into trouble got your arm blown up in the first place.'_

Maera frowned, both at the screen and at Taibhse. If she was being 100% honest with herself, she wasn't sure if she'd thought of _everything_ that could potentially go wrong, either. She only had what she and her friends had managed to gather over the months, and what Rill had told them. She had _no_ idea what Drasus's half of the situation looked like, and she also had no clue what kind of effect the shifting of leylines had been having on Etrides _before_ she'd landed at the spaceport where Zachar had found her.

But it wasn't as if she was a stranger to improvisation. Despite all the heavy planning she and Jace and Gideon and Nissa and the others had done ahead of time, defeating Ulamog and Kozilek had still been half ass-pull. No matter how well-planned something as big as, say, absorbing two Eldrazi titans into a plane, there were still plenty of things that could throw a wrench in things. Such as Kiora throwing a tsunami at them when she decided to throw a hissy fit over the plan not going _her_ way. Or a plane's angels going insane and killing everything that moved.

She shook her head. Unlike Zendikar or Innistrad, she was dealing with a very insane oldwalker here. The events were being directly influenced by a person, which meant that she had a solid target she could throw something at. Once she was in the front door, she'd be able to figure out the details and act from there

 _Provided I don't get thrown out an airlock first. That would be bad._

The soft hiss of air behind her keyed her into the door of the small racing shuttle opening, and she turned. It was Rill, clad in a similar outfit to what he'd worn when they went after Zachar. He slid into the seat next to her as Maera raised an eyebrow at him. "What's this for?" She nodded to his getup.

At first he didn't reply, and Maera thought he wasn't going to. She was turning back to plotting her route—thank the _gods_ for autopilot, but an autopilot would do her no good if she didn't get the right route plotted—when he spoke. "I'm going with you."

She glanced a him out of the corner of her eyes, before going back to her controls. This was not nearly as easy as Zachar made it look. "I got that. Why?"

"Because you're insane and will probably blow something up, and then need someone there to pull your ass out of the ensuing fire." Maera snorted a laugh, only half-offended at his reply. "But in all seriousness, I've dealt with Drasus before. And as skilled a mage as you are, having backup is not going to be a bad idea."

"In other words, you're worried about me."

"Yes." A pause. "I still think your plan is stupid."

"I know." She frowned as she tapped at the screen in front of her. She made a face, chewing the inside of her cheek. "This is not as easy as the others make it look..."

"Don't ask me. I'm clueless about all this technomagic crap."

Maera snorted at Rill's response. "I wasn't asking you." She said as the door hissed again. She didn't even bother turning to see who it was.

"Hey, don't break my ship." Nasala peered over Maera's shoulder. "You're doing it wrong."

Maera waved the data slate in her hand. "There's a reason I'm not helmsman."

"I'm surprised you haven't punched the scree yet." Maera kicked at Rill under the console. Unsurprisingly, her foot swished through air instead of making contact with the kor's shin.

"Here, let me." Nasala shouldered Maera aside, and the battlemage let her through; she had no idea what she was doing, anyway. She cleared Maera's attempt at navigation from the screen, tapped a few controls, and the route popped up, no fuss. "There you go. I'm assuming you've figured out where the rest of the nav controls and weapons are."

"Yeah."

"Good." Nasala handed the slate back to Maera as she stood up. "I'm expecting you to bring this thing back in one piece."

Maera shot her a smile. "Try my best, I promise." She said, crossing her fingers,.

Nasala just rolled her eyes. "Oy...anyway, Zachar's going to be keeping a comm link lock on you. _Both_ of you." She nodded to Rill as well, who made a sound in his throat in response. "Either of you get into something too nasty, hit the panic button. Just like last time."

"Hopefully this won't go as badly as last time." Rill grumbled. "Not looking forward to another concussion."

"Why d'you think Tone's sending one of their medical kits with?" Nasala asked, crossing her arms. "The only reason they're not going with you is because there's not room for a third pilot on this little thing. It's a racing shuttle, not an old hauler like Zachar's."

"Somehow I get the feeling they're _still_ bitching." Maera deadpanned.

Nasala snorted. "Probably." She tapped her bicep with her finger. "How do you plan on luring this Drasus out, anyway? You didn't bother with coordinates."

"Won't need to, I hope." Maera said. "I'm going to tap one of the leylines' power, and send out the magical equivalent of a lighthouse beacon. Hopefully one powerful enough he'd even be able to see it on the other side of the plane."

Beside her, Rill groaned. "This is _already_ sounding like a disaster waiting to happen."

Maera resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "There's a method to my madness, I swear."

"There'd better be."

 _'I'm with Rill on this one.'_

Nasala shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Powers that Be, I can't believe you're actually doing this..." She sighed. "All right. The others and I will be standing by on _Sleipnir_ , waiting on the signal." A beat. "And if there's no signal...?"

"Start raising hell anyway." Maera sat back in the seat. "Just keep hugging the leyline, right?"

"Right. If you get shunted out of FTL, there's a distress beacon right next to you—it's the big red button that says 'distress beacon', if you didn't notice it already." Maera rolled her eyes at the kor. "But hopefully that won't happen, or at least the computer will alert you and you'll be able to drop out before the stream dies and you end up getting thrown out unwillingly." Nasala paused to take a breath. "I don't think I need to tell you that this is risky as hell and doubly stupid."

"Oh, no. I got this one here to tell me that." She jabbed a thumb at Rill, earning a glower from the kor in question.

Nasala studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Right. Here's hoping this half-assed, crazy plan of yours works." She sighed. "And Rill, don't get her killed."

"I don't plan on it," Rill replied, leaning back in his chair. "Now, are we leaving or not?"

Nasala just rolled her eyes and left the small craft, shaking her head. Maera heard the door shut, and she keyed the controls on the panel to seal it in preparation for space flight. She glanced to Rill out of the corner of her eye as she was going through pre-flight procedures (not without help from the directions on the slate, she wasn't _that_ good and she'd only had a rough tutorial on _Sleipnir_ 's controls before launching the rescue). "So. We're literally making ourselves bait."

"Yes."

"For a gone-crazy old Planeswalker."

"Yep."

"Who's going to re-ignite his Spark by destroying a plane."

"That about sums it up, yes."

Maera hesitated at the controls, but barely. "You don't seem very scared."

Rill gave a small shrug. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least at little...nervous." He said. "I've seen a lot of shit in almost three thousand years. I've _done_ a lot of shit in three thousand years." He let out a breath as the approval was granted and the bay doors started opening. "But that still doesn't make going into battle any less nerve-wracking."

Maera throttled up the ship, taking care not to send them careening into the ceiling—she didn't want to give Nasala a heart attack, or end up scrapping their little adventure before it got started. " _You_ are _scared_. Just, how? You seem like one of the _least_ likely people to start freaking out before a battle?"

He snorted. "The ones who are unafraid of battle are the stupid ones." He said. "Even a suicidal man fears the void, even if it's only instinct." Maera glanced over again as Rill spoke. He was gripping his arms so tightly his knuckles were white—whiter than his normally alabaster tone. His expression was tight. "Being skilled doesn't nullify fear, and courage isn't the absence of it. It's the ability to work _through_ that fear, and fight despite it."

"Hmm." Maera edged the racer towards the the blackness, silently congratulating herself on keeping the small craft steady. "You know, that little speech of yours brings to mind something a friend of mine once said."

"Which is?"

The craft cleared the bay doors, and she tapped the screen to let the flight control of the larger craft know she was free. "'The ones who fight the hardest aren't those who have nothing to lose; the ones who fight the hardest are the ones who will lose _everything_ if they fail."

Another soft snort escaped the man. "Well, the prospect of Etrides being destroyed and leaving a rift in the Multiverse certainly qualifies." He murmured. "No wonder your hands are shaking."

Maera didn't respond. She guided the racing shuttle to the aether stream—which looked considerably smaller than it had a couple days ago. _Here's hoping_. She tapped commands, preparing to go to FTL.

"What'll you do if Drasus _does_ re-ignite his Spark?"

Maera paused, the question catching her halfway off-guard. Her hand hovered over the FTL controls. She'd known the question was there, but she'd been trying not to think about it...hell's, she'd rather avoid it if she could.

Rill was staring at her. She wasn't looking at him, but she could feel the kor's gaze nonetheless. She chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking about her answer...and what it implied.

" _A battlemage who doesn't fight to kill is a battlemage with no teeth!"_

" _You've never killed before, have you?"_

 _Will I even be able to land the last blow when it comes?_

She didn't know. Maera honestly _did not know._ She bit her lip, trying to organize her thoughts. As many battles as she'd been in—against demons, the Maze, Zendikar, Kaladesh, even Amonkhet—she had _never killed._ Even before she Sparked she'd never gone into a fight with the intention to kill; only to disable opponents. It was enough to keep her and her friends alive.

It came with being a protector...right?

 _It's why I jumped at the chance to become a battlemage. I haven't looked back since._

Her other hand clenched into a fist on the glass in front of her. She'd never fought to kill, just to _keep_ from being killed. But this...this was different.

 _I can't simply disable this time. If I don't fight to kill, I won't survive._

Just the _thought_ left a sour taste in her mouth. It made her want to lose her lunch...or her appetite to _have_ lunch in the first place. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing.

She glanced to Rill, and he raised an eyebrow. So, the question wasn't rhetorical.

Maera's mouth went into a thin line. She knew the answer...and didn't like it.

She tapped the control for the FTL drive.

"...He won't. I'll kill him before he does."

 **-XXX-**

" **A** nd that's how Belinda broke Isran. Completely. He hasn't tried speaking to her since."

Zachar was leaning back in his chair, feet on the table and arm hanging over the back, reading a book on his slate. "You know, I don't usually say this, but...I might be a little afraid of this Belinda of yours."

"She's not all _that_ scary." Dione shrugged. "Unless, that is, you're the idiot who wakes her up before noon. If that happens, I'm not helping you."

"I can imagine." Zachar deadpanned. "I've had the, ah... _pleasure_ of seeing Maera wandering around in boxer shorts and a t-shirt at four in the morning. She looks like she could kill an army if they stole her coffee."

"She could." Dione and Szordree deadpanned in unison.

"Maera _did_ tell you how her Spark ignited, right?" Szordree asked. "The whole blowing-herself-up thing?"

"We were both drunk, but yes." Zachar replied, still looking at the book. He wasn't reading it anymore. "She said that it turned some mad scientist's lab into a crater."

"...Yeah. That's accurate."

"Are _all_ of you batshit insane, or is it just you four?"

"I think it's less of a case of just us and our group, and more a case of Planeswalkers in general are at least a _little_ broken." Dione pushed off from where she was leaning against the wall and slid into an empty seat at the table. "Albeit, some more than others..."

"Just never tell Jace that. Or Gideon." Szordree added. "...Or, maybe even Sorin for that matter. The amount of offended might just make even _Bolas_ feel bad."

"Unlikely. The only thing Bolas would feel bad about is that he wasn't the one who said it."

Zachar put down the slate and rubbed his hands over his face. He didn't like this waiting, but then he didn't like this whole idea _period._ Why the hell he was getting involved was beyond him, and between it all he was getting a headache.

 _You're getting involved because it's your home plane, genius. Like it or not, you still give enough of a crap about Etrides to care if it gets destroyed or not. Having friends here who aren't Planeswalkers certainly helps._

Agh...his conscience. Sometimes he wished he was just a little bit better at ignoring it for his own well-being. But no, he listened to it far more often than was healthy.

In recent weeks especially.

 _Powers that Be...don't tell me I'm becoming one of the heroes, now. Next thing you know I'll be running into the monster's lair to rescue fair maidens, going on about honor and light. Send help._

"I know that face. That's the 'gods help me, I've thrown in with heroes' face." Zachar peered through his fingers at Dione's comment. "And because you're thinking it; no, you haven't gone insane. Just spent too much time around idealistic lunatics. Like this idiot." She nodded to Szordree.

The drow snorted. "I have _not_ spent too much time around a bunch of idealistic lunatics." He replied, rolling his eyes. "Far from it. You spend a couple centuries running around with Bregan D'aerthe and then try calling Jarlaxle and company 'idealistic'. 'Smartasses' is more like it."

"Well, that explains you." Szordree flipped off Dione. "I've said it before and I'll say it again; I've got a man. Though I'm sure Brynjolf would _love_ to see you try and woo me."

Szordree's response wasn't so much a reply as mortified sputtering. Zachar bit his tongue to keep from laughing. _How are any of these people still alive._

Zachar's gauntlet beeped, an alert light flashing red. _"The beacon as been activated. Looks like Maera and Rill have succeeded in catching Drasus's attention."_

Zachar's mouth went dry. Dione and Szordree had stopped their bickering, both suddenly serious. Despite himself, Zachar felt the knot in his gut grow tighter...this may be part of the plan, but that didn't pacify his nerves. His throat felt tight as he addressed _Sleipnir_. "Good. Heading?"

" _Heading Oh-Six-Five, bearing two-five." Sleipnir_ paused. _"They're heading for one of the unstable aether highways. Either they've been living under a rock and don't know they're being messed with, they're idiots, or they're suicidal."_

 _Or they know what they're flying into and have a way to make up for it._ Zachar kept the thought to himself; they had enough problems without _Sleipnir_ getting his mental panties in a knot. "Thanks. Looks like the plan's working, so far." He stood. "Let the others know. We're following them."

The other two Planeswalkers nodded, before heading to their respective quarters on the ship. Zachar ran a hand through his hair, letting out an uneasy breath as he headed for the cockpit. He dismissed how badly his hands were shaking.

 _Here's hoping the rest goes just as smoothly._

* * *

 **And yes, Szordree was talking about _that_ Bregan D'aerthe, and _that_ Jarlaxle. **


	20. It's Maera, Bitch

**We're in the home stretch, y'all! Thanks to all my reviewers, favoriteers, followers and readers thus far. You make this mess worth it!**

 **Disclaimer: The ushe. I don't own Magic: The Gathering, or anything else owned by WOTC. Or anything by Bethesda, most certainly nothing in The Elder Scrolls series.**

 **Thanks, as usual, to my friend GamerDragon13 for letting me borrow her 'walker Dione for this ^^. I hope I'm doing her justice.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty**

 **It's Maera, Bitch**

" **What** are you doing?"

Maera paused in applying her lipstick before looking at Rill. "What?"

The kor pointed at the black lipstick in her hand. "We're turning ourselves into bait for either Drasus or one of his followers, and you're putting on _makeup._ Why?"

Maera finished and tucked the lipstick and mirror away into an inner pocket of her coat. "Kind of a tradition of mine, I guess. Got stared back when I was in high school." She explained. "Whenever I'd go barreling into some sort of life-threatening battle, or rescue mission, or some other insane shenanigans were fighting is guaranteed, I started wearing black lipstick. I don't know why, it just...became a thing." She looked to him and shrugged, palms-up. "Pre-battle ritual, I suppose."

Rill grunted and looked back out at the starfield outside. He crossed his arms—Maera was starting to suspect that the man was so cranky that he even _slept_ with crossed arms and an eternal scowl. "How long before they get here?"

"Dunno." Maera leaned back in her chair, knitting her fingers behind her head. She glanced to the small cube on the console in front of them, still pulsing—and sending out waves of magic, as she could feel. With any luck, being in close proximity to the aether stream would amplify it...if not, they were just sitting here looking stupid. "Depends on how good they are at sensing magical presence."

"And how good _you_ are at short-order builds." Rill gaze slid to Maera for a moment, before he went back to glaring at the stars. "For all we know, it could be sending out a recording of the macarena..."

"Hey, I'm not _that_ incompetent!" Maera kicked at the kor, and—predictably—hit nothing. "I don't blow shit up nearly as much as the Izzet do. I swear, every other week _something_ in Nivix goes blooey. Usually because of some noob hitting a button or something or Ral getting a _really_ bad idea..."

Rill fixed her with a _Look_. "Didn't _Belinda_ say that your first forays into artifice blew a _hole_ through a _stone wall._ "

"That was an accident!"

"I repeat; a hole through a stone wall. Specifically, a stone wall of the college that your friend Dione runs."

"Again; _accident._ And I fixed it!"

"Duct tape doesn't count."

Maera tossed a stray pen at him. "I didn't use duct tape. I used alchemy. You can't even tell there was a hole in the first place."

Rill batted the pen away mid-flight. "Forgive me if I don't seem convinced." He deadpanned. "I tend to take the word of artificers who're known for blowing themselves up with a grain of salt."

Maera blew a raspberry at him. Like any mature adult would do.

Rill responded with the finger.

Maera fist-pumped the air. "Success! I finally got a reaction out of you, you lump of granite!"

Rill rolled his eyes in exasperation and facepalmed. "I never thought I'd be _hoping_ for an enemy to show up." He groaned. "If this is what you're _usually_ like when you're bored, it's a wonder the Multiverse is still intact."

"Eh." Maera shrugged. "It could be worse."

"How."

"It could be before the Mending. If you think I'm annoying _now_ , imagine what I'd have gotten up to with the power of the gods."

Rill made a sound resembling a small animal dying. Maera grinned in triumph. _Success._

Then a ship dropped out of cloak _right in front of them._

Both Planeswalkers jumped into action. Maera glanced to make sure her staff was still in quick reach as she unlocked the console. She tapped the steering, and hoped she remembered Nasala's quick piloting lesson; push the controllers forward was, well, forward; tilt left was left, same for right, hard yank back went up... She tried envisioning it as a video game, but at least in those she could pop back to the menu to review the controls. Here, she couldn't exactly call Nasala and ask which button kept them from running into a star or something.

 _Ignore that. Concentrate on now._ "Buckle up." She told Rill, snapping her harness back on. "This is about to get bumpy."

"If you're piloting, it's likely to be more than just bumpy." Rill grumbled, but strapped himself back in anyway.

Maera didn't get a chance to respond. She was too busy yanking them out of the way of the plasma cannon fire.

 **-XXX-**

" **I** t appears the Messiah hasn't wasted time learning how to pilot a ship." Indril's first mate muttered. Indril grunted his assent, running a finger along his lower lip.

All told, he had been rather surprised the Progenitor had seen fit to allow him to capture the Messiah; Indril had expected the Progenitor to take charge personally. It had come to a shock that he was willing to allow Indril the honor—and Indril was honored to accept the mission.

His ship shook from the potshots the Messiah was taking—but only slightly. The small craft, a racing shuttle from the looks of it, it wasn't made for combat—it was meant for speed. _She truly isn't familiar with our world._ Indril thought as he watched. _It's sad. Almost._

"Aim for the engines." He said to his weapons man. "Try not to do any more damage than is necessary. We don't want to injure the Messiah."

The gunner swiveled in his seat to face him. "Master Indril, the Progenitor only said to retrieve her alive—"

" _Alive and unharmed!"_ Indril yelled, sending the gunner reeling. He took a breath to calm himself before continuing. "Just because the Progenitor didn't _specify_ unharmed does not mean he would not prefer it." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. He steepled his fingers. "Only use enough firepower to to knock out her engines, then board. As far as the Messiah herself...only use enough force to subdue her, and then _only_ if necessary." He shot the rest of the crew on his bridge a glower, and they all shrank in their seats. "And, Progenitor help me, if _any one of you idiots_ kills her by 'accident', I will skin you all _personally_ and present your hides to the Progenitor myself. Clear?"

Nods all around, accompanied by nervous looks and badly-masked squirming in their seats. Good; a crew that was afraid of consequences was one that would listen.

The targeting lock on the bridge blinked red as the gunners got a lock on the darting ship. _"Fire."_

 **-XXX-**

" **G** ods damn it. Why'd those two have to break my ship?"

Zachar grunted and stood up from where he'd been inspecting the damage. "On the upside, it looks like the damage was isolated to propulsion." He said. "Drasus's cronies must not have wanted to cause any more damage than they had to. Smart move on their part."

Nasala made a cranky sound. "Still. My ship's broken." She frowned at the computer readout. "This baby isn't going _anywhere_ anytime soon."

"It can still be fixed, right?"

"Oh, of course it can." Nasala waved the data slate as she spoke. "It's just going to take time. And I was hoping to enter the Prix this year."

"That's not until Cernaan." Zachar pointed out. "Four months away."

"Still. Not looking forward to engine repairs." Nasala sighed. "But, you're right; at least they're the _only_ things that're damaged."

" _And the trace is working."_ _Sleipnir_ said from Zachar's gauntlet. _"Nasala, did you want to try getting your ship back to the convoy and meet back with us, or set a beacon here so it can be retrieved?"_

Nasala hummed and tapped at the helm controls. A light flashed on the viewscreen as she did so. "I'm setting a beacon so Mun can send someone to pick it up." She said. "Damn pirates knocked out sublight along with the FTL..."

"I feel the same, Nasala." Zachar came over, picking up the cube Maera had scrambled to put together with his help. "Well, looks like this thing worked as intended. Didn't think it would."

"You're lucky Maera's not here to hear you say that. She might slap you."

Zachar snorted. "You're probably right." He held up his gauntlet. " _Sleipnir_ , can you tell if this thing's still sending out the pulse that attracted the pirates?"

A holographic screen appeared from the emitter on the gauntlet. A schematic of the cube appeared as the AI scanned it. _"The pulse is indeed inactive. Not only did it do its job, it did it correctly. I'd call that a success, given the circumstances."_

Zachar nodded absently. It had taken the better part of a night to get the small device assembled. It had to be built with two purposes; the first, to send out a regular magical pulse of a similar power to that of a planeswalk. That alone had been why Maera and Rill had had to park near a leyline; there wasn't room for an onboard power supply for the device, so siphoning power from the nearby leyline had been the only option to keep the thing running for long enough for it to be detected.

After the beacon stage, it then had to automatically stop transmitting the beacon and activate a set of trackers paired with it, once the wearers of the trackers themselves were out of a certain range. And that range had had to encompass the entirety of Nasala's ship, or they'd have been risking false alarms. From the looks of it, they'd succeeded.

Now all they had to do was follow the trail.

Right into the hellion's den."

 **-XXX-**

" **M** y lord, the mission you gifted me with was a success." Indril said by way of greeting as he entered the room. "I have been successful in apprehension of our Messiah!"

Drasus turned, yellow eyes peering out from under the deep hood of his robe. "Then why don't you stop talking and introduce her, Indril?" He asked, eyes glinting. "Or were you and your crew a little too... _enthusiastic_ with her retrieval?"

"No more than was necessary." Indril responded, a sneer creeping across his face. "I assure you that she is intact, both mentally and physically...unlike several of my own spacers, unfortunately..."

"Indril...just bring her in. I wish to either look her in the eye, or hang your hide on the door. It is your choice as to which will happen first."

The pirate's face blanched, but he moved aside. _"Enter!"_ He barked to the men waiting outside.

There were four guards, all of which sported injuries. One had a new eye patch and his arm in a sling. Another had dermal regeneration patches plastered over half of his face. The man restraining the woman on the left was favoring one side f his body, clear evidence of a broken leg and likely ribs. The fourth was sporting dried blood from his broken nose, which had been put into a splint.

The woman they were guarding was clad in cargo pants, combat boots, bright blue coat billowing out behind her, and a sleeveless turtleneck. She didn't look at all like someone who had caused enough damage to merit being detained by no less than _four guards_. Though she wasn't unscathed either; half her round face was bruised, with a black eye what looked like a broken cheekbone. Her lip was split and bleeding, the black lipstick smudged...yet she was still smirking. But she wasn't favoring one side of the other, and none of her limbs appeared to be broken.

 _Appearances can be deceiving._

Drasus guessed her to be, at most, only five-three. Broad shoulders, straight-backed, and an even gait flew in the face of a build of someone who belonged in a library rather than a battlefield. She looked far too soft to have been able to break the faces ad bones of men who had six and more inches on her in terms of height, and better than fifty or sixty pounds heavier.

But. That _smirk._ His eyes narrowed as he wondered, _is this really her?_

Which, of course, only prompted her smirk to widen.

It was, without a doubt. It was that black-lipped sneer from the vid. It was just as cocky in person.

And more importantly, it was a mirror of her ancestor's. The last time he'd seen that shit-eating smirk was on Allandir, as the faerie prince had been sealing his Spark two thousand years ago.

 _Strange, how someone who looks so little like him has the same expression._

"Well, well, well. I'm going to go out on a limb and assume you're Drasus Catius. That yellow glowy-eyed look of yours? Impressive. Not very scary, though."

Well. Even beaten and with her arms bound behind her— _two_ arms, one flesh and the other a magical construct—she was still a cocky son-of-a-bitch. If her appearance didn't line up with her fighting ability, her attitude certainly did.

 _I am going to have a hell of a time turning her._

One of the guards—the one with the broken arm—wound up with his good arm. "He is the Progenitor! Show him the proper respect, you bloody—"

"Stop there, or you will be the next to find themselves testing airlocks." Drasus's voice was soft, but it held enough warning to make the man blanch and freeze. His eyes went wide with fear, and he dropped the threatening arm. "Smart man. I suggest you think before you act, next time."

"O-of course, Progenitor. I am—I apologize. Forgive me."

Drasus hummed, but otherwise didn't reply. He returned his gaze to the Messiah. Her face was round and soft, glasses framing her blue eyes. Her hair, half of it braided, was pulled back into a ponytail, her bangs dyed blue. "So...you are the Messiah I foresaw. I knew you would come decades ago."

"Yeah, cut the mystical shit. I already know that you're an oracle who went nutzo when he Sparked. Here's a revelation; I'm a Planeswalker too, so your whole 'I have seen worlds that you cannot imagine' speech is pointless. Already did all that." She shrugged, despite the guards' grip on her upper arms. "It's not so impressive when you've been to those worlds and realize that teenagers are idiots, no matter what plane you're on."

Drasus's eye twitched. By the Divines...this woman was already giving him a headache. _I foresaw her arrival to Etrides, and the power she will use to restore my godhood...but I did not foresee this. Akatosh, why have you sent me a smartass?_

Unsurprisingly, the Divine didn't respond; his reach ended at the borders of Nirn. The Dragon wouldn't have been able to reply if he'd wished to.

It still couldn't hurt to ask anyway.

Apparently his thoughts showed on his face, because the Messiah had found more fuel. "I'm just going to save time and answer your question now: yes, I am for real. And yes, I do intend on pulling out my entire sarcasm-penis, just to annoy the shit out of you. I'm obnoxious like that."

 _'Sarcasm-penis'...?_ Drasus groaned inwardly. _Divines...never before have I hoped one of my visions was wrong, but there is a first time for everything. Eternities, please give me some side that she is not Allandir's descendant..._

The grin on her face widened. Drasus swore part of his dignity died inside. He looked to Indril. "Did she have the staff?"

Indril nodded and jerked his chin forward to beckon a fifth member of his crew. The man stepped forward, limping—his leg was in a brace. But he carried a _very_ familiar staff.

 _Allandir's_ staff. He looked to the woman, who merely raised an eyebrow. He looked back to the staff...he had his confirmation. _So he did manage to pass it on._ He thought. _And it came to this woman. His... descendant is a fucking lunatic._

He sighed, giving in and pinching the bridge of his nose. The Messiah made a strangled sound of amusement. Drasus could feel that his headache was going to be a migraine. _Help. Me. Somebody._

His Messiah was a crazy person. Suddenly, a small voice in the back of his head was asking if _maybe_ having her aid him was _really_ a smart idea.

 _No. I've come too far to stop now. She can do what no artifact can and will survive, and re-ignite my Spark...and restore my godhood. I can't let this opportunity pass._

He shook his head and held his hand out for the staff. "Bring it to me."

Allandir's precious staff was over six feet tall, a good several inches over Drasus's own height—and nearly a foot over the Messiah's. The dark ironwood was carved with Celtic runes along its length, and wrapped at two intervals with dark blue cloth for grip while fighting. The aquamarine crystal was held in place by wood that looked to have been grown to wrap around the gemstone. A second 'branch' twisted above and around, and bore several gems and charms which jingled together as they moved.

Drasus reached out to accept the item...and then recoiled, hissing in pain. It had _burned_ him! He shot the staff a glare, before examining his hands. He could already see the welts forming, and he didn't look forward to see how they developed.

"Ah, riiiight. I probs should've mentioned that part. There's a booby trap laid on it, aaaaaand I didn't bother deactivating it. Oops."

Drasus shot her a glower. The woman only continued her smirking...where she was pulling this confidence from, he didn't know. "You realize why I brought you here."

"Yeah, some sort of world-ending bullshit of yours. Personally, not a big fan of apocalypses. Had to stop one before, and it was _really_ more trouble than it was worth.

A tic started working in Drasus's forehead. He loosed his magical presence, the weight of it pushing everyone in the room to their knees—including the Messiah, though she still refused to bow her head. "I am not causing an apocalypse." He said softly, his annoyance seeping into his voice. "I intend on ending this world's suffering, and in doing so restore the godhood that your ancestor stole from me."

"Sounds like an apocalypse to me." For her part, the Messiah wasn't showing any fear. On the contrary, the look in her eyes was more akin to challenge than fear.

He wasn't sure if he should be impressed at her audacity, or concerned. She was either very brave, or very stupid.

Either way, she was not going to be a willing Messiah.

"Call it what you will, my Messiah." Drasus strode forward, still exerting the magical pressure to keep the others on their knees and heads bowed...even as _she_ kept her back straight. "But either way, you are destined to aid me in my goals."

Her eyebrow climbed closer to her hairline. Her smirk had disappeared momentarily, but now it was back.

"It's Maera, bitch."

* * *

 **Only a few chapters left after this, guys. Can you feel the storm yet?**


	21. Crash

**What's this? An update that doesn't take a month? Is the world coming to an end?**

 **No, it's not. And no, you haven't lost your minds. I've just had this (and the following last chapters) floating about in my docs, and I'm hoping to have them all posted by the time October starts, seeing as I've had this whole thing finished and sitting on my hard drive for a while.**

 **And I still don't own anything in Mt:G, or anything else owned by WOTC. If I did, Etrides would very much be canon.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-One**

 **Crash**

" **No."**

Drasus Catius scowled at her. He wasn't wearing the facemask anymore, but his eyes were still bloodshot and glowing sickly yellow. His skin was ashen, and Maera suspected that the reason he kept his hood up was because of a serious case of bedhead.

And apparently he didn't like the word 'no'.

"I could strike you down where you stand." He grated, voice quiet.

"Yeah. But you won't. Because you need me to do whatever it is you're planning...unless there's _another_ living artifact mage out there somewhere." Maera kept her voice light, even though her stomach was doing backflips.

 _There are so many ways this can go wrong. And I don't even know if the trace is working or not. _She thought. _And I haven't seen Rill since we were "captured"._

" _At least you still have me for company~"_

Maera resisted the urge to snort at Taibhse's comment. Sure, he was great company...if you wanted a headache. _If I'm as much of an asshole as you are, my brain's going to explode._

" _You really want to bet on that?"_

 _Oh shut up._ Maera made a mental note _never_ to let him meet Bels. That would be a disaster. She focused on the conversation at hand. "You heard me. No."

Drasus's scowl deepened. "You seem unconcerned about your well-being. And that of Rill."

She shrugged.

Drasus closed the distance between them in a few short strides, coming to a stop towering over her. Maera guessed him at about 5'9''—not _quite_ as tall as Rill. "I have ways of convincing you."

"Yeah, yeah. Heard it before. Didn't work then ether." She shrugged again. "I'd be flipping you off right now if my hands weren't cuffed behind my back."

The old 'walker's mouth went thin, and he looked like he wanted to deck her. _He won't, though._ She thought. _It's more advantageous for him to have me cooperate, and slugging me won't help with that._

 _Not that I plan to be very cooperative anyway, but still..._

Drasus closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. Maera let her mouth curl in a smile of satisfaction; she was getting to him. _Good._ That would help the others...and her, of course. If he was getting irritated he was off-balance, and if he was off-balance it would be all the easier to turn his plans sideways.

"I see that you don't yet, ahem... _see_ the importance of the mission." His voice was still dangerously soft, but not quite so close to throwing punches. "Understandable, I suppose; after all, you _are_ newly-inducted."

"I haven't been inducted into anything. _"_ Maera retorted. "You're just running a nihilistic death cult and using it as an excuse to re-ignite your Spark, so you can be a 'god' again. Except even that's bullshit, because Planeswalkers _aren't gods—"_

" _I AM A GOD!"_ Drasus roared, and Maera found herself stepping back instinctively. Clearly, she had touched a nerve. _"I. Am. A. God._ The only reason I am forced to take these mortal forms is because of _your_ ancestor. Your filthy, short-sighted _mortal ancestor!_ How a fucking _faerie prince_ from a backwater, miserable, inbred plane managed what he did..."

Maera snorted. "I wouldn't call Terrestiel 'backwater', given all the shit it attracts." She snarked. "Inbred...ehh, matter of who we're talking about. It's got its pros, but hooo boy does it have a lot of problems...like semi-sentient rotten Cheetos running countries..."

Drasus's hand clenched and unclenched, clearly tempted to do something along the lines of either slugging or strangling her. Maera was surprised her tone was as even as it was; her insides were twisting into nervous knots. _This man is not sane._ She thought. Sure, Rill had told her and the others that Drasus didn't have all his marbles, but seeing it in person was...disturbing. _There is no way this guy should be allowed to Planeswalk outta here. That is one thing the Multiverse does not need._

 _'For once, you and I are on the same page.'_ Taibhse agreed. _'I know how many cracks Bels and the others have made about you being allowed loose in the Multiverse, but at least you've got most of your marbles.'_

 _Mnh._ Maera wasn't going to argue the point, mostly because it was true. She might have a habit of of pulling crazy stunts, but she wasn't under the delusion that being a Planeswalker made her a literal _god_. And even if it did, she didn't _want_ to be one. She'd seen enough of what happened when power went to someone's head...and she _really_ didn't want to know what would happen if it was her. _Probably a whole lot of fucked-up._

Drasus ran a hand over his face, taking a breath. He let it out seemingly calmer, though the sickly glow was still in his eyes. "Luckily for you, I don't need your ability—not yet, anyway." He said, his voice more even than it had been. The mad waver was still there, however. "But I assure you, your services _will_ be required sooner rather than later."

Maera arched a brow. "We talking about mana channeling here, or your bedroom? Because if it's the latter, ew."

Drasus scowled before returning to the artifact—a small, clear orb that shimmered between the five mana colors. Even from where she was standing, she could see the thin fractures in its surface. It was almost ready to break, and before long she'd have to put the second phase of her plan into action. _Once I finish putting together phase two, anyway._

Taibhse groaned.

Drasus picked up the orb, studying it as he addressed her. "Do you know how long it took me to get this gem working?"

"Not really, no. Don't care much, either."

"Mmn." Drasus rolled the sphere between his fingers, seeming to admire its craftsmanship "It's quite a remarkable item, if I'm honest; the civilization that created it may very well have been godlike themselves, at least to the beings who live here now. To have been able to create _this_ , an item so small yet has the power to redirect entire leylines themselves...truly the work of gods." He placed it back on the pedestal. "But, it is ancient. It may have been able to do what I wished when it was new, but now..." he shook his head. "It is a mere shadow of itself, much like I.

"But _you,_ " Maera didn't like the look he pinned her with. "Even it is noting compared to _you_. Even before my Spark was sealed, even I could not have taken any color of mana and changed it to my needs. If anyone in this room could be called a god right now it is you. If only you weren't too stubborn to see it..."

Maera rolled her eyes. "You don't need to give me the 'we were gods once' lecture. Already gotten it before, and from a bigger asshole than you."

Drasus raised his eyebrows at her. "Oh, really? And from whom?"

"Nicol Bolas."

Drasus hummed, mouth twisting. "The Elder Dragon," He murmured. "We've had...encounters."

Now it was Maera's turn to be curious. "That tone doesn't sound like they were _good_ 'encounters'."

"That is one word." The oldwalker waved his hand, as if waving the thought from his mind. "In any case, it is not relevant. Past incidents involving the Elder Dragon and his machinations don't have any bearing on the here and now—"

 _Speak for yourself._ Maera thought sourly.

"— _your_ ability does."

Maera's mouth went into a thin line. Alarm bells of suspicion were ringing in her mind."Why're you telling me this whole plan of yours?" She asked. "It only makes it that much easier for me to screw it all up."

Drasus cocked an eyebrow, considering her. Maera felt like some of the things she put under a microscope. A small smile quirked up the corner of Drasus's mouth. "I found that in some cases, hurting others is an, ah, _effective_ way of persuasion."

Maera's skin crawled. _The old 'help me or your friend pays' trope. Got it._ "And how're you so sure I are whether Rill lives or dies?"

"I can see it written on your face. For all of your snark and looking tough, your self-righteous protectiveness of your _friends_ is obvious. You're just like Allandir in that respect, so easily hurt by going after others..."

 _Shit._ "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It makes my job _much_ easier." Maera felt like her skin was going to crawl right off her body and out the nearest airlock. She liked to think that she wasn't particularly easy to creep out, but this nutcase was succeeding. "But don't get me wrong; I'm not one of those idiots who sees friendships as weakness. Quite the opposite, in fact—I place great value in the friendships I have made. But it's as much a liability as it is a strength."

"Riiight. Coming from the man with the crazy eyes, I have trouble believing that."

"Your opinion." He shrugged. "In any case, I'd expect you're rather bored by my demonstration by now."

Maera snorted. "Oh no, not at all. I just adore listening to the ego-endowed and their verbal wanking." She replied, not even bothering to hide the sarcasm.

"I'm sure." The minions who'd brought her to Drasus little ego-stroking display reappeared on some unknown cue. "Escort Lady Hellion to her quarters. I will send for her when I require her power."

The guards nodded and took up station on either side of the half-faerie, escorting her from the cathedral-like chamber. She was putting together the rest of the plan in her head, but there was still one glaring problem:

 _How do I get outta here?_

The other parts of the plan—get caught, leave a trace for the others to follow, then fuck up Drasus and his plan—were easy. The only issue she had yet to figure out was the whole getting-out-of-prison part.

It was also the the part she had to sort out in order _to_ move onto the fuck-up-Drasus's-plan part. Which meant that it was more than a little essential to the whole operation.

 _Maybe Zachar should've been the one to come with, not Rill. Zach could at least hack the security system of this place and break us out. Me...I haven't been on this plane to have the familiarity Zachar has._

 _'Drasus would've also prepared for that.'_ Taibhse reminded her. _'Though technically you don't need to hack the security system.'_

Maera frowned. The cultists gave her a funny look, but didn't comment. _What're you talking about?_

 _'Oh fer the...you are an artificer, right? Isn't it second-nature nature for you to create a giant explosion without much material?'_

 _That's the Izzet's job. I'm not Izzet._

Taibhse let out a noisy sigh, and Maera had the distinct feeling that he was facepalming in her inner world. _'You know what I mean. If you can build artifacts successfully, there's now way you haven't blown your eyebrows off few times before.'_

Maera saw where he was going with this. _Just fry the whole damn thing._

 _'Bingo. Not only will it get you and Rill out of prison, it'll also fuck up a bunch of other systems if you do it right. Or wrong, in this case.'_

Maera wanted to laugh out loud. She was pretty sure that'd it make her escort think she'd lost her marbles—and given this plan, she just might be. Instead, she contented herself with a self-indulgent smirk, making one of her attendants shift uncomfortably.

They undid her manacles and left her at her quarters, and Maera rubbed her wrists. "All right," she muttered, "time to get down to business."

She raised her hand and summoned a small blue flame to her index finger. It wasn't large, and it wasn't a lot of mana, but it meant that she could draw around Drasus's blocks. _Makes sense. This is his stronghold. He needs mana for his spells, after all._

 _'He probably also keyed them to his presence. He can probably draw mana a lot easier than you can.'_

Maera hummed. She wouldn't need a lot of mana—not initially, in any case. It wouldn't take much to start a cascade, and she still had a veritable _ocean_ of mana stored in the gem atop her staff. She was far from out of options.

And, of course, she had a master hacker following her trail. Despite Taibhse's concerns, she was confident that Zachar would—eventually—find his way in and send the computers into a crashing spiral.

Still, she sat down at the computer in her quarters and smiled—she had, if limited, access to the base's systems. _Big_ mistake; it meant she had a way into the wiring of the place. _Somebody's feeling awfully confident of himself. Too bad it's gonna bite him in the ass._

She grinned at the look on his crazy-eyed face when everything went kerflooey. It wasn't every day she got to blow something up _on purpose._

 **-XXX-**

" **Y** ou're kidding me. Drasus's base is _in there?"_

Zachar's eye twitched. He shared much the same sentiment Dione did right now; this was _not_ going to be a fun flight.

" _According to their trackers, yes it is. I hope you have barf bags."_

Behind him, Szordree snorted. Dione let out a groan. "I hate this plane." She groused. It wasn't the first time she'd voiced the opinion.

"Hey, at least he's not hiding inside a black hole. _Then_ wed be fucked." X'vir said, his tail twitching. He'd propped his feet up on a blank control panel.

"So would the others. Black holes are kind of hard to get out of once you fall in." Nasala pointed out.

X'vir shrugged. "In the middle of a quasar, then."

"The middle of a quasar _is_ a black hole, furball."

X'vir shot her a rude gesture.

Zachar threw a pen at the two of them. "Focus. Going to need one of you on helm. X'vir, you're on cannons."

The Azeran grinned, his eyes lighting up with a crazy gleam. "My favorite words."

"I'll keep an eye on th' engines." Ganneth said from his station.

"I'll take helm," Tone said as they slid into the seat next to Zachar.

"I'll take copilot." Nasala said. "What're you doing, Zachar?"

Zachar tapped the console screen in front of him. "I'm going to find Drasus's network access points, and crash his computer system." He replied. "With any luck, that should make it easier to open the front doors."

" _That's a tall order, Zach." Sleipnir_ pointed out. _"You sure you're up to it?"_

Zachar snorted. "Not a clue." He said. "But it's better than relying on brute force and his overconfidence." Zachar's eyes glowed as he started on the hack. " _Sleipnir_ , keep an eye out for asteroids. Yell if we're about to hit something."

" _Aye, boss."_

"I'll go back and make sure the go kits are ready." Dione said, before leaving the cockpit.

Zachar heard Nasala take a deep breath next to him. "On my mark in...three...two...one..." The viewscreen lit up with markers for asteroids and other debris, a pulsing line showing the easiest route that _Sleipnir_ could find. "...Let's go." The ship moved forward, Nasala and Tone carefully maintaining course.

 _And this still isn't the hard part._ Zachar thought. _We still have to get inside._

 _Here's hoping the door's open for us._

 **-XXX-**

 **M** aera's arm trembled as she removed it from the orb. Sweat beaded her brow; channeling mana was one thing, but redirecting an entire plane's leylines was a _much_ higher order.

Her body was feeling it. She hadn't moved at all, but she felt like she'd just gotten done with a five-mile run. With weights on her feet. On an empty stomach—which was now growling angrily. It was a tie between sleeping first or eating first. Despite the fact that, according to her watch, it was only one in the afternoon.

She stepped back from the pedestal, stumbling—until Drasus caught her. "Careful. Concussions aren't fun."

Maera shoved his hands off. "Speak for yourself. They're fun to _give_ to people."

The groan from Taibhse in her inner world matched Drasus's. "If it weren't for the staff, I wouldn't believe that someone so _violent_ was related to Allandir."

Maera snorted halfheartedly. "Am I done?"

"For today, yes." Drasus replied, gently guiding her from the room. "I hope today you'll take up my offer for lunch."

"I don't know. How much do you like barbed-wire handjobs?"

Drasus choked. Apparently not, if the shade of his face was anything to go by. "I will take that as a no." He pressed a pair of fingers to a spot between his eyes, probably from a headache. One that Maera was certain was her fault—and she had no regrets about. "I will have your meal sent to your quarters, then. As per usual."

Maera grunted. "No sushi this time. I don't know who your cook is, but they shouldn't be allowed _anywhere_ near seafood. I'm pretty sure my ass exploded last night."

Drasus winced and let out a disgusted sound. "Tell me, Messiah—"

" _Maera."_

"Do you get some sort of perverse amusement out of being an asshole?"

Maera gave the Cyrodiilic man a droll look. "Oh, gee, what do you think? Need a couple hints to figure it out?

Drasus groaned again. Maera smirked and stuck her hands in her pockets. "So, I'm playing nice. That's my end of the bargain. You keeping yours?"

Drasus nodded as he folded his arms behind his back again. "Yes. Rill is unharmed, for as long as you serve your purpose here."

"You say that, yet you're refusing visual confirmation."

Drasus peered at her through bloodshot, yellow-glowing eyes. "I'm not an idiot. I know better than to let you two have a chance to put some sort of plan of yours into action." He replied. "You'll just have to take my word for it."

The doors swished open, and Maera felt the familiar weight of the spell-muffling enchantment close around her as her escorts took over, leading her back to the quarters she'd been assigned. At least they were keeping her hands free, now—but the enchantment was going to make the spellcasting more than a little difficult. And not having either of her swords, a blaster, or her staff...but once the magitech was down, a tracking charm to locate them should be easy.

Her bigger priority was Rill, though. She didn't trust Drasus's word that the kor Planeswalker was unharmed; as far as she knew, the mad Planeswalker could be wreaking some revenge from two millennia ago on her friend. And that just couldn't stand.

Letting her legs go on autopilot, she contacted the thin stream of mana she'd forged. The muffling enchantment didn't _completely_ nullify her ability to draw mana, just dispersed it before she managed to funnel it into a spell. The _smarter_ thing to do would be to just lock down her spellcasting altogether, not simply making it harder.

His overconfidence was outweighing any common sense regarding security. He was so focused on re-Sparking that he was ignoring the obvious.

 _No complaints here._

The lights went out for a moment, before coming back on again. Maera cocked a brow, and her escorts had looks of confusion. "You think one of the noobs got peanut butter in the core again?" One muttered. Maera slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the laugh.

The other one gave her a dirty look. "Either that or Kyl got drunk again and pissed on something." He deadpanned. The lights flickered again, the dark period lasting longer this time. "Yeah, _definitely_ Kyl. Probably passed out in a maintenance tube or something again..."

Maera used their distraction to feel out Rill's presence. Almost immediately she felt his response, confirming that, at least for the most part, Drasus was indeed keeping his word.

The lights dimmed several more times, the dark periods lasting longer with each cycle. Finally, they went dark completely, and Maera heard the background hum of the air scrubbers go silent. The weight of the muffling spell lifted, and she felt the measly drip of mana she'd been collecting turn into a torrent.

Her guards looked up n confusion, the mouth of one of them hanging open. They realized a moment too late that the enchantments preventing Maera from casting were gone, along with _their_ protection.

She slammed her flesh-and-blood arm into the diaphragm of the one on her left, and kneeing him in the face when he doubled over. Something in his face broke with a satisfying _crunch_ , and she turned to the other.

He was already going for the nightstick at his belt, but his reactions were too late. The spell jumping to her mind, Maera sent a bolt of lightning right into his gut. It sent him into the wall, limbs dancing uncontrollably from the leftover electricity.

She cast her senses out, noting that there were more cultists coming. Figuring it'd be best to avoid as much fighting as possible until she was armed and dealing with Drasus, she cloaked herself in invisibility and crept down the hall.

 _Now all I need to do is find the armory. Or at least a map to it._

That should be easy. Not.

 **-XXX-**

" _ **Y** EOW!"_

It wasn't very often Zachar made a sound like _that_ , but when electricity arcs from a wall panel into one's arm...well, strange sounds tend to come from the startled vedalken in question.

In Zachar's case, it involved sounding like he'd just gotten a kick to the balls and a nuclear wedgie, at the same time. And flying across the hall.

X'vir turned his head away from his targets to give him a raised eyebrow. "Nice landing."

" _Shut up."_ Zachar grumbled, getting to his feet and shaking the feeling back into his arm. It felt like it'd been turned into a giant noodle. "In any case, they're not getting their computers online for a while. Pretty sure I melted something important."

"Yeah. The burning metal smell kinda gave that away."

Zachar stuck his tongue out at him. "In any case, with all the damage Nasala's doing to their software from orbit and what we're doing in here, the others are going to have _plenty_ of time to meet up with Maera and Rill."

" _And stop Drasus."_

Zachar nodded. "That too."

" _If you two are done with your chat, we have friends on the way." Sleipnir_ said. _"Also, Szordree's managed to melt even more than you have, Zach. And...he's enjoying himself a little too much."_

" _This is what happens when you don't have adult supervision."_ Dione piped up over the headset as Zachar and X'vir retreated from where Zachar had done a direct mana-dump. _"Granted, it's not like you lot are mature either..."_

" _Oy, don't lump me in with them."_ Tone's voice was staticky, as much from the distance as from having to work around the interference Zachar and Nasala were doing. Judging by how scattered the cultists seemed to be, it looked to be working. _"I just stick around to make sure these idiots don't get themselves killed. I can't begin to tell you the number of times I've had to repair a broken leg. Or rib. Or fractured skull—"_

"We get the point, don't need to rub it in." Zachar grumbled, bringing up the map on his HUD. The dot that represented Szordree was moving—fast—towards what they'd identified as the brig. Dione was heading there via armory, presumably to pick up their friends' weapons so they wouldn't have to double back and deal with more trouble. "Just keep up the digital mayhem while we take care of the chaos here."

" _Just, please come back in one piece. I don't want to be spending the trip back to Saiyani playing jigsaw with one of you crazy people."_ Tone replied.

"No promises there," Zachar muttered under his breath, pulling X'vir into an alcove to avoid passing cultists. For so-called spiritualists, they were remarkably well-armed. Apparently starting an apocalypse cult wasn't the only thing Drasus had been up to in the last two millennia; from the looks of it, he had quite a fortune at his disposal. Terrific.

An explosion rocked the deck plating beneath his feet. Zachar tapped his earpiece. "Szordree, was that you?"

" _Nope. I'm actually trying not to set anything on fire right now. I'm on my way to meet up with Dione to get Rill out of where they're holding him."_ The dark elf replied. _"You'll be happy to know, though, that I'm pretty certain their sensors are shot. Don't know for sure what I melted, but it looked a lot like the schematic you showed of it before I turned it into slag."_

A grim smile spread across Zachar's face. _That_ made them virtually invisible, as their internal comms kept on going on- and off-line due to their... _activities._

" _Bet you fifty septims it was Maera."_ Dione deadpanned. _"She's got way too much of a fascination with explosions, and general mayhem. There's actually a sign in Nivix on Ravnica, that says Maera is not allowed anywhere near anything without a full night's sleep. There was an incident."_

Zachar and X'vir exchanged a look. "You go meet up with the others." He said, tapping another command into his gauntlet. "Then make your way to the main chapel."

"You sure 'bout that?" The Azeran asked, his ears pressed against his skull.

Zachar grunted. "Yeah. Meet you there with Maera." He said. "With an explosion that big, she'll need backup."

X'vir gave a reluctant salute before heading down one hallway, Zachar tracking his progress on his minimap. The personal cloak activated, hiding Zachar's form from view.

As swiftly and quietly as possible, he headed in the direction the explosion had come from. Gods only knew what sort of crazy she was kicking up now...

 **-XXX-**

 _ **B** ad idea. Very bad idea. Never doing that again._

If Maera had a dollar for the number of times she'd said that over the years, she was sure she'd be a millionaire by now. With the number of stupid things she'd done—both involving magic and not—it'd hardly be a surprise.

 _This is gonna be a story for the books. Once again, I'm glad Bels isn't here; she'd be lecturing me the entire time._

 _'I'm pretty sure she's going to be lecturing you once you get back to Ravnica. Along with the rest of the Gatewatch.'_

 _Yes, thank you for the reminder._ She leaned out from her cover and popped off a few shots from her stolen pistol. She ducked back behind it as bullets came back her way. _Actual_ bullets, no less; literally hot lead instead of bolts of energy. And while getting hit by a blaster bolt wasn't exactly _fun_ , she _really_ didn't want a bullet _anywhere_ in her body.

And she was regretting not at least _attempting_ to get a map of the place before the computers went down. She had no freaking idea where she was, or where the armory was, or where the brig was. Until she got a map off of one of the goons, she was clueless.

 _'Think later, shoot now.'_ Taibhse warned. _'Hindsight isn't very helpful when you've got guns with very real bullets aimed at you.'_

 _Point made._ Once the power had failed, Drasus's compound must've had some kind of emergency system that kicked in automatically, because there were still emergency lights on and life-support was functioning. As well as artificial gravity, otherwise—as asteroids aren't exactly known for their gravitational pull— _everything_ would be floating. _What I really need is a map of this place. Figure out where I am, then from there I can find Rill, my gear, and Drasus._

 _But first, I've got to get these guys to stop shooting at me_

On the upside, with the main systems down that meant any magic-damping enchantments were also gone. She hadn't had any trouble blasting her way through obstacles, so far.

But now, she wast lost. She'd checked to see that the trace was still working—it was. So ideally, it should still be sending out a signal for Zachar and the others to track. She just hoped that the power failure was because of _them_ , rather than someone...else.

 _First thing's first; take out these assholes, then steal a map from one of 'em. If one of them has a map, which given how huge this place is, they should_. Murmuring a set of wards, she layered them one on top of the other before shooting out of her hiding place. The Kevlar-imitating ward spells wouldn't last for long, but she didn't _need_ them to in order to KO the shooters. She made a mental note to check for a bulletproof vest, too—it wouldn't do her or this crazy plan any good if she got a slug of lead in her chest.

Apparently, the gunmen hadn't been expecting to come running _towards_ where the bullets were coming from. She caught a look of shock on the face of one of them, right before her boot smashed it in. He fell like a sack of potatoes, and she carried the momentum forward into a right hook into the next goon's jaw.

Not waiting to see if he fell, Maera caught his neck with her flesh arm and clotheslined him into the wall, where he slumped to the ground. _Two down._

The hairs on the back of Maera' neck rose, and she ducked just in time for a metal baton to whiz over her head. She turned and stepped back out of the way, just as it came down again—from overhead this time. She raised her construct arm in a block, and she felt the shudder from the force of the strike even in her feet. The meaty man grinned—she counted at least three missing teeth—and pressed down harder.

Rather than try to withstand the brute force of th assault, she shifted out from under the baton and let it slide off her arm. Not expecting it, or just assuming that everyone he fought was as dumb as he was, the brute lost his balance...which was all Maera needed. Her knee went up into his solar plexus, and the heel of her hand slammed upward into his jaw.

He toppled face-first into the ground with a _thud_. Maera cracked her knuckles, pleased with her handiwork.

 _That went well._

Knowing that time was of the essence, she went over the KOed cultists quickly; no sign of bulletproof vests of personal shield devices, disappointingly. But she found a small palm-sized device that, when activated, projected a 3-D, holographic map of the fortress. Jackpot; at least something came of her little gunfight.

 _Looks like I'm gonna have to figure out how this works on the run._ She thought. She took a moment to take note of the map; she assumed the little blinking dot indicated her position. One floor down and several corridors over looked to be the armory—she hoped. If there was any place her gear was being kept, it was likely there.

 **-XXX-**

" _ **O** n your left!"_

Zachar dove behind the corner. The magitech bodysuit he was wearing underneath his clothes could take a beating, but he'd still rather not get hit by a bullet. The deadly missiles flew past him, and he returned fire with his blaster.

He heard a few cries as a couple cultists went down. Then had to return to cover as another volley came at him.

 _Thank the Eternities their aims suck._

" _Please_ tell me you're almost done patching into the sensors," Zachar grumbled. "Updated data would be _really_ helpful right now."

" _Give me another few moments, Zach. There's quite a bit to download in here."_ _Sleipnir_ replied.

Zachar hissed and swore as a bullet came _far_ too close to his face. _"I don't have another few moments, Sleipnir!"_

" _I'm going as fast as I can here! Somebody didn't think to download these things before he bombed the computer system!"_

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up and work faster." Zachar growled, checking the charge on his blaster. Half gone, and he still had two extra batteries. Still, he couldn't afford to get into a firefight, not until they were facing their Big Bad.

He'd need all the advantages he could get. Maybe splitting up _wasn't_ the best idea...

 _Stop. This isn't a horror movie, and you're not the dumb blonde who can't keep her legs together._

His gauntlet dinged, and the minimap disappeared from his HUD. " _Sleipnir?_ "

" _Updating you guys' map. Hang on just a moment..."_ The HUD reappeared, this time with locations marked and a new marker. _"There. And now that I have control of what few systems haven't been digi-bombed—"_

" _I get the point already!"_

" _I've added a few new markers. One of which is insane."_

Dione snorted. _"Three guesses who, and the first two don't count."_

Suddenly, the emergency lights in the hall turned red and klaxons started blaring. Zachar cursed under his breath; _someone_ was managing to get partial control of the computers, and they'd raised the alarm. They needed to get to the others, _fast_ , and then stop Drasus.

" _Well fuck me with a flamethrower."_ Szordree grumbled. _"Can this day get any worse?"_

" _Don't say that, or it will."_ X'vir deadpanned.

Zachar groaned and shook his head. "Y'all need to stop watching horror movies," He muttered, facepalming. "All right. The plan stays the same; Dione and Szordree, get Rill out of the brig. X'vir, you meet up with them by way of the armory. I'll track down Maera, and we'll head for the main chapel."

" _This is going to end so many ways of badly,"_ Szordree griped. Zachar heard a swat and a yelp from the drow. _"What?!"_

" _You need to stop watching Terrestiel horror movies."_ Dione said. _"Meet the rest of you maniacs at the gates of hell."_

Zachar snorted softly and double-checked his blaster. Still half charge, still on stun. Then he cloaked and headed for Maera's location.

 **-XXX-**

" _ **G** ET OUTA MY WAY!"_

Maera followed up the "request" with a blast of fire, setting the cultist's hair aflame. He went running down the hall screaming, as his fellows tried to avoid being set on fire themselves.

She smirked. She finished buckling her blaster into the leg holster on her thigh. It wasn't Icefire, but the weight gave her some measure of comfort. Her staff leaned against one wall, and she started over to pick it up when a thought occurred to her. Deciding to try something, she held out a hand to the staff. _"Come."_

The staff responded by flying into her hand. She caught it, grinning. "Need to remember _that_ one." She raised an eyebrow.

 _'Yes, yes, nice trick. Now don't you have a friend to break out of jail and an oldwalker to find?'_ Taibhse sounded impatient.

 _Oh get your panties out of a knot, I'm going._ She consulted her stolen map to double-check the location of the brig and started out of the small armory...

...just in time for a blaster bolt to fly by, barely missing her nose. Dropping her hand to her blaster, she stepped back and peered around the doorway. She made sure her weapon was clear in its holster as she gathered mana for a spell.

Another pair of bolts flew by, followed by a grunt down the hall. Drawing her blaster, she took it off safety and stepped out from cover, weapon drawn.

It was Zachar. She relaxed, and returned the pistol to its holster. "Well. Looks like the trace worked after all."

"Yes it did." He tossed her a bundle, and it turned out to be Icefire and Black Ice. She buckled the wakizashi and katana about her waist, and their familiar weight at her hip gave her that much more reassurance. "Though next time, I'd appreciate it if you didn't point a gun at my face."

"How the hell was I supposed to to know it was you? For all I knew, you could've been more cultists!" Maera protested. "Or some Inquisitorium goon managing to break in."

Zachar made a face. "Let's _not_ think about that, thank you very much." He replied. "Dione, Szordree, and X'vir are here too; Dione and Szordree are heading to break out Rill. X'vir's on his way to armory...which you found first."

Maera nodded and readjusted her grip on the staff. "Guess this mean's we're heading for Drasus now."

Zachar grunted. "Yeah." He nodded to the blades at her waist. "I liberated those from a cultist who'd apparently decided to help himself to some new weapons." He explained. "Managed to knock out the idiot before he had a chance to draw them and lose a few limbs. Also..." He handed her an earpiece. "That's got an up-to-date map and comms to the rest of the gang."

"Thanks," Maera slipped it over her ear and snapped it to her glasses. The HUD blinked to life, the minimap in the corner peppered with dots—she assumed the red were enemies, and the purple were their side. There were few enough of them. "I hope you guys have been trying to minimize casualties?"

"Yes. There's a reason X'vir's weapons are locked on stun." Zachar said. "Pretty sure most of these people got pulled in by the glamour, and don't realize that Drasus is going to kill them along with the rest of the plane."

Maera's mouth twisted. _Dumb idiot fucks._ She thought. "Where were you planning to meet the others?"

The vedalken raised his eyebrows at her. "The main cathedral, of course. It makes the most sense, considering who we're here _for_."

Maera grunted. Fair enough. "Then let's get going. We've got a party to crash."

 **-XXX-**

 _ **I** t's not long now. Allandir's descendant has done her job admirably; by the end of the night I'll be a god again._ Drasus thought as he snapped on the gauntlet. He'd had it specially made to work with the orb he'd been using to redirect Etrides's leylines—the same one that the headache of a Planeswalker had been using as a focus.

And she'd been successful; through his visor, he could see that the leylines of Etrides all converged at a point under his feet. And, with the help of his magitech gauntlet and the orb it was paired with, he'd be able to harness that power and drive it right through the thin fabric separating Etrides from the Eternities.

 _Ironic isn't it, Allandir? You're the one who stranded me on this plane, and the one who has the power to release me from it is your descendant._ He deactivated his visor; he wouldn't need it for this. _Poetic justice, I think it's called._

He powered on the gauntlet, and already he felt the power buzzing. He tapped the slate in his hand, and the pillar containing the orb rose from the floor with a soft hissing sound. The top quarter of it rose, and cracks appeared before coming away in four sections. Held securely in a clawlike grip was the artifact; it shown with an inner light that had been dimming until recently; Drasus smiled. The intruders in his fortress and main power still offline—it didn't take a starship engineer to figure out that _she_ had been the cause of _that—_ wouldn't be a problem for much longer. He reached out to pick up the orb...

 _BANG!_

 _ **CRUNCH!**_

 _ **CRASH!**_

Drasus looked up just in time to see the doors go flying halfway across the room. One landed against the wall, dented into a bowl-shape, and the other skidded to a halt in front of his dais in a crumpled heap. His ears rang in the silence that followed.

After several long moments, the silence was broken by footsteps. Footsteps that were accompanied by the ring of wood against metal.

"Your security's kinda shit, Drasus. Really should've had a burglar alarm put in."

Maera Hellion strode down the steps into the cathedral, the same smirk on her face that she'd had upon her arrival. Her irises were glowing blue, matching the glow from the veins in the magical construct she used for an arm...and the gem atop Allandir's staff. And every time the staff it the deck, blue-white and crimson sparks went up where it hit.

Frowning, Drasus sent a lightning spell at the mage. In response, Maera swept the staff in front of her, and the lightning froze into ice, before falling to the ground and shattering to snow.

Well. Looks like she wanted to make this difficult.

"Going to have to try harder than that, Drasus." She came to a stop and planted the staff. "Want me to give you a free shot?"

Drasus's un-gauntleted hand balled into a fist as his annoyance bubbled into anger. "You are trying my patience, Messiah." He growled.

"Yeah, yeah. Boo-freakin'-hoo." She gave him the middle finger. "This is how much I care about your feelings."

Drasus closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned to face the woman. Flanking her on either side were the vedalken friend she'd made, a drow whose dreadlocked hair was pulled into a ponytail, a Dunmer woman wearing Nightingale armor, and Rill of the Kor.

His memory flashed back to two millennia ago, when he'd faced Allandir in much the same location—on the planet this asteroid field had been. Back then, it had been _Allandir_ carrying the staff, flanked by Rill, Amanisa Dragon-Speaker and Dane Stoneblood. Back then, Drasus had been far less experienced, and far more angry.

It had been 2,000 years, and Drasus had far more experience now. And this time, he wasn't going into the fight angry.

He _would_ be a god again. He was going to re-ignite his Spark, and this sarcasm-filled girl wasn't going to stop him.

He turned fro the pillar and stepped down from the dais "I would point out that you're making a mistake, but I'm pretty sure you would simply ignore it." He said, tapping the bug in his ear. It sent a message to his personal guard, alerting them that there was a fight about to happen. It wasn't that Drasus couldn't handle this misfit group, but he didn't want to waste time taking them on alone.

She snorted. "Understatement." She rested a hand on her sword hilt. "You gonna stand there doing a one-man pissing contest, or are we going to get around to crashing your little party?"

* * *

 **And so the final battle is upon us. Two more chapters, plus an epilogue, and this mad adventure will be closed...for now, anyway.**

 **To quote AnotherSpoonyBard (whom I recommend if you're a fan of Bleach or Harry Potter, or both), reviews are desired but never required~**

 **-Hikari Hellspawn**


	22. Spark

**Y'all still buckled in? Good. Because we still got some mayhem on our hands. Hang on tight, kids.**

 **I still don't own MtG.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Two**

 **Spark**

" _ **I'll**_ _take the Mohawk on the right. Zachar, you take the one with the piercing fetish."_ Rill murmured over the commlink, quiet enough that Drasus couldn't hear. _"Dione, Szordree, you're both on covering fire."_

" _There's still two more."_ Dione pointed out.

" _Those two look like they're teaming up with their mates."_ Zachar answered. _"Which just leaves Drasus..."_

"I'll take Drasus." Maera said, her glare still on the Cyrodiilic.

A pause. _"You sure you can handle him?"_ Rill asked.

Maera snorted. "Hell no. The man's way older than me, knows this plan better than I do so he's on his home turf, and has enough brains to use all that—insane or not. Oh, and he's probably got a larger mental spellbook than I do."

Okay, that last part wasn't _technically_ true. The staff Allandir had passed to her— _her_ staff now, not his—wasn't just an unusually strong magical focus. The _real_ power lay in the polished aquamarine held at the top; an magical library, stored in the crystal itself. A library that contained _every single spell_ Allandir had learned in the nearly three-thousand years he'd been alive, all tucked neatly into the clear, pale blue gem.

" _Well that's comforting."_ Zachar deadpanned. _"I thought this was a plan."_

"It _is_. That doesn't mean I'm certain it'll work." She pushed her glasses back up her nose. "And I'm guessing we're about half a second from getting assholes thrown at us."

She was proven right as Drasus gave the order. "Dispose of them."

Everyone exploded into action at once. The four of the goon squad shot forward, met by the blur that was Rill and several holographic versions of Zachar—often flickering and switching positions so it was impossible to tell which one was real.

One goon tried ambushing the vedalken in question, only to get blasted back with a net of electrified ice from Dione. She shot a thumbs-up a the Dunmer before charging at Drasus.

Her eyes lit up with a spell, her arm crackling with electricity she dove forward with a fist to the gut as the oldwalker blocked...

...and then the illusion broke apart as the bolt from her blaster hit him in the gut. He stumbled back, giving Maera just enough of an opening to slam her feet into his chest, sending him flying.

She used a touch of a telekinesis spell to control the acrobatics it took to land on her feet. Drasus picked himself up, patting his midsection, before sneering. "Well, that was a wasted assault. What kind of bolt doesn't even stun someone?"

Maera's smirk widened. "Wasn't about the blaster bolt. Wasn't trying to knock you out." She held up a finger. "Just _wait._ "

Drasus frowned, and Maera could sense him gathering mana for a spell. She didn't raise a shield—that is, she didn't raise one against _him_. Instead she braced against the spell she'd sent along with the blaster bolt she'd shot into his gut. _Here's hoping I did that right._

She did. The spell left Drasus's lips and did...nothing. The Cyrodiilic man frowned, then scowled at her. Maera just raised an eyebrow. _Wait for it..._

It didn't take long. The spell rebounded, the flesh-slicing spell he'd been intending to hit _her_ carved into his own body, and he cried out as the invisible blades drew bloody tracts over his arms and midsection. He staggered back, holding a hand to the bleeding wounds. _"How did you—"_

"Got that one from Bolas." Maera let the ward against the spell drop, but she didn't let it leave the front of her mind. "Or more accurately, from what he left _behind_ when he blasted me with my own spell. Took a little bit of...mindfulness—admittedly not my strong suit—to get that little snarl untangled, but once done I figured, why waste a perfectly good spell?" She leaned the staff on her shoulder as she strode forward, hand resting loosely on her sword hilt. "I decided to unravel what was left behind to try to reconstruct the spell in question. I think it worked."

Drasus's face darkened as she explained, and it seemed that as the glower deepened, the more sickly the glow in his eyes got. And admittedly, the more freaked out _Maera_ got.

She hoped her poker face was holding.

Apparently it hadn't sunk in for Drasus, because the first thing he did was send a fireball at her—or try to, anyway. He cursed in what sounded like Daedric as the spell exploded like a bomb before it even left his fingertips. _Apparently insane oldwalkers who think they're gods aren't so great at_ _thinking_ _before_ _acting_ _._

"So you've gone ahead and cut off my ability to use magic. Good for you." Despite the burns on his hands and face and robes, his attitude didn't seem as worse off. "I'll just have to use _different_ means..."

He reached into his robe, and Maera didn't wait before exploding back into action. She ran at him as she drew her sword, swinging across in front of her in a horizontal cut. It _clanged_ against metal instead of his body, and she smelled the ozone of electricity and backed away before the charge on the blade could conduct to _her_.

Drasus counterattacked, and Maera barely manage to get Icefire up in a block before he took a chunk out of her still-intact shoulder. She slid out from under his blade, letting it fall off hers, before aiming another cut at his knees.

Rather than block this time, Drasus opted to dance out of the way and strike her from the side. Maera half-blocked with her staff, half-scrambled out from under the onslaught before she lost part of her head. She got her sword and staff up in front of her in a crossed block only just before his next blow.

She felt the blow ring through her arms, down to the bones. Already she was straining, even _with_ what magic she was using to augment her endurance. She could hear the fights going on around her, between Rill and Zachar and the others and Drasus's...personal guard, she supposed. Where they'd been hiding she had no idea, since one moment they were there and the next, bam; goon squad.

Drasus, on the other hand, didn't seem to be breathing particularly hard. If he was getting short of breath from their fight he was very good at hiding it, though the fact that his sword was _much_ lighter than hers—whatever it was made of, it had to be at least as strong as steel—probably helped. Still, weight of the sword notwithstanding, he was putting a _lot_ of power behind his blows. Power that made Maera's arms jerk every time she blocked.

Apparently on Nirn, Divine oracles spent time in the military. He certainly used a sword well enough for it.

The pair of them traded blows, Maera doing more defending than Drasus was. She suspected the blows she _did_ manage, when they were parried, dodged, or just grazed him, were ones he _let_ through just for amusement. She gritted her teeth—clearly, this fight was a joke to him.

It pissed her off.

She didn't like things that pissed her off

 _Okay, fine. You gonna be Mr Cocky-pants? Fine by me. I'll just pull out my asshole-penis and rip you a new shit hole_ Maera thought, backing off as she stared murmuring a spell. It wasn't exactly going to be subtle, but she was pretty sure that subtlety was out the window at this point. _You know what? Fuck subtle._

Drasus came in for another strike, and Maera cast an invisibility spell and dodged to the side. She felt the sword swing by close enough to cut her arm hairs, but it didn't draw blood. Drasus brought his blade back up and eyed the air around him. "I know you're not far, Messiah." He said. "Cheap tricks aren't going to help for long."

 _They'll help for long enough._ "I thought I told you that my name isn't Messiah. It's _Maera._ " A duplicate Maera appeared a few feet a way, her staff holstered in a sling over one shoulder and a sword in either hand. "Get it right, for fuck's sake. And while you're at it, get to an eye doctor because _seriously. Nobody's_ eyes are supposed to be _that_ bloodshot without some kind of condition. It looks like you've got glow-in-the-dark cataracts."

Drasus snarled something in Cyrodiilic as he charged the doppelganger. The copy brought her swords up and caught his blade in a block, gritting its teeth in effort. Maera felt it herself, sweat beading on her forehead as she padded around behind Drasus, towards the pedestal the orb rested on. The effort of maintaining her invisibility, keeping the doppelganger solid enough to fool Drasus, and fight the man via remote control wasn't exactly a short order.

 _Gonna have to end this quick._ She got to the pedestal, and grabbed the orb. She stuck it down her bra as Drasus struck the doppelganger again.

It splashed into a puddle of water on the ground, unbalancing Drasus. Maera charged forward and dismissed her invisibility, bringing Icefire down in a two-handed strike.

The katana bit deep into Drasus's back and drew a bloody line from shoulder to hip. He screamed and swore as he turned to strike at her again, but Maera didn't bother waiting for another bone-rattling blow before becoming invisible again an rolling to the side. His sword swung through empty air and drove into the floor, where it discharged its jolt harmlessly. Still in a crouch, she swung her blade up and and towards—and through—his sword arm.

The limb went skittering across the floor, and Maera bit down on the gorge that rose. _You'd think after ten years, I'd be able to stand blood in battle._ She thought, parrying the wild swing from his other arm. Drasus was either ignoring the wound, or his mind was just that far away from reality. _Apparently that bit of brain wiring is too damn stubborn to change._

Drasus backed off, holding a hand to his bleeding stump. She could see his mouth moving in spell, though she had no idea what kind it was. Rather than wait and find out, she cast a spell of her own, using the water she'd used to create her doppelganger. The liquid formed into a ball around Drasus's head, quickly growing to envelop his entire body.

A moment later, it exploded. Following the rain, Drasus's sword flew at Maera. She knocked it aside with her katana, but the motion left her open to attack. She didn't have her sword in the right position to be able to intercept Drasus's hand when I wrapped around her throat.

Maera choked, the man's grip tight on her windpipe. _This is why I hate fighting._ She thought angrily. _Shit goes sideways way too damn fast. _

She tried worming her fingers underneath his, in an attempt to break the hold. It didn't work; the grip was too tight. Hoping she'd get out of the grip sooner rather than later, she dropped her sword and held a hand out towards her staff and called it to her. The smooth wood smacked into her palm, and she swung it around and under, towards Drasus's knees.

The ironwood of the staff made contact with a loud, wet _crack_ , and the old walker was sent to his knee. He released Maera out of reflex, and she half-crumpled to the ground, coughing. The only reason _she_ didn't faceplant was using her staff as a brace.

She was breathing hard, magically-enforced stamina or no; either she and Drasus were evenly matched—which would surprise her—or he was holding back to keep the fight going. If it was the latter, shed like to know why. _If he is, best make this as hard as possible for him to win._ She reached down her shirt and pulled out Drasus' orb.

The owner of said orb stopped in the middle of the spell he was weaving on his knee—it only just _now_ occurred to Maera that he'd managed a workaround with the mana-line-knotting spell, and it worried her—and stared at her. "How did you get _that_?" He rasped.

Maera cocked an eyebrow and smirked. She stood and gathered all the mana she could, enough that her hair started sparking and the world was _literally_ looking blue. This was going to be a _bad idea._

 _'Kind of late for that. I think you passed Bad Idea Junction when you headed out in Nasala's racing shuttle. Right now we're balls-deep in This-Is-Fucked-You're-Fucked-I'm-Fucked-We're-All-Fucked-Land.'_

 _Thank you, Taibhse, for your ringing endorsement. I love it when you pull out the confidence-boosting encouragements._

Taibhse snorted. _'Coming from the woman about to blow herself up._ _Again_ _.'_

Maera returned he mental snort in kind, but didn't reply. At least _this_ time she wasn't making _herself_ the manabomb; this time, she was overloading something that was almost a manabomb on its own.

 _'Aren't those the same thing?'_

 _Shut up and let me concentrate or this planet's going to get blown apart again._ Maera put as much of a groan as she could into her mental voice. Even as she 'said' it, cracks started to appear in the small orb.

Drasus held out a hand, eyes wide. "You _can't destr—!"_

He didn't get a chance to finish, as he was interrupted by the orb exploding. _Oh, shit. I forgot to make sure the leylines weren't still connected to this thing._ She thought, a split second before the world turned white.

 **-XXX-**

 **Z** achar's ears rang from the blast. Thankfully, it seemed his opponent—a man wearing an oversized tank top under his acolyte's robes and sporting a Mohawk so red he swore it would glow in the dark—was just as stunned as he was. And that he was still recovering from the explosion. Zachar took advantage of the cultist's disorientation; he crouched and swept his leg outward, sweeping the cultist's feet out from under him. He followed up with pinning the man, getting both his arms in a full nelson and pressing his knee down into the center of his back.

The cultist laughed. "You fight good, for a girly man." He snarked. "Or, just a girly in your case. You wearing a falsie or just stuff your pants, by the way?"

Zachar's ears burned. _Don't get pissed. Don't get pissed. He's just being an asshole, and you've dealt with those before._ Rather than pull out one of his daggers and slit the man's neck, he pressed down harder on his opponent's back. "Shut. _Up._ Believe it or not, I'd really rather _not_ kill your inbred ass." _Except, not really. Pretty sure I'd do the gene pool a favor if I did. H_ e added inwardly.

He heard the sneer in his voice. "Can't be _that_ hard, kid. Ain't you supposed to be some ex-assassin or something?" Zachar froze. "Heh. Inquisitorium's not the only ones who do their research. We got spies too."

 _Shit. I thought I'd erased all that when I left._ Zachar though as a cold sweat ran down his spine. _Either that or this guy's not bluffing and I ran into tone of their insiders in the Inquisitorium while I was still doing their...'jobs'. I don't like that this guy knows._

Apparently, either Tone was psychic or they were listening to the conversation over the commlink. _"Zachar, for the love of all that is sane, don't do something stupid._ " They said. _"It'll be your twenty-first all over again, and none of us want to relive that. On another note, what the hell was that explosion? It lit up sensors like insanity."_

"Maera doing something insane." Zachar replied, quiet enough that he hoped the cultist couldn't hear the conversation.

" _The usual, then."_ That was Nasala.

Zachar grunted. He looked to see how the fight between Maera and Drasus was going.

It...was. From what glimpses he'd gotten before, it'd actually looked like a _fight._ Now, it just looked like they were in a barroom brawl. Even as he watched, the half-faerie snapped her fingers and her katana returned to her hand—just in time to intercept a wild swing from the wannabe god's sword.

Apparently, the man must've seen Zachar's shift of attention. Or felt him shift and took a lucky guess. "You think she's got a helluva tail, too? Ain't nothin' wrong with a girl bein' into other girls, just keep in mind that I don't share..."

Again, Zachar felt his face heat. "You always this much of an ass, or are you just being cute? Because either way, I'm not laughing."

The idiot barked a laugh. "Maybe it's a little bit of both, maybe it isn't. Either way, getting you riled is giving me a laugh." He giggled. "Seems you walkers of worlds are as colorful as us mortals after all. I wonder if you're just as, ah... _fascinating._ "

"Oh shut up." Not wanting to find out what his opponent meant by 'fascinating', he caved and smacked the man's head on the floor. He went limp, and after a moment's wait to make sure he was out Zachar stood, glad that he was _finally_ silent.

"Took you long enough." Rill was standing with his hands in his pockets, his opponent's wrists zip-tied to one of the pews. And a...sock was stuffed in his mouth? Zachar shook his head, not sure he wanted to know where the kor Planeswalker found the makeshift gag. Or how annoyed he got with _his_ opponent to end up zip-tying him to a pew and shove a sock in his mouth in the first place.

A dull _thud_ rang out, and one of the remaining two goons hit the ground hard, and smoldering. Szordree cracked his neck, and his hair was smoking alarmingly. Zachar's eye twitched; from the nonchalance of his posture, having his hair on fire was normal for the drow. He shrugged. "What?"

Zachar pointed to his head. "Your hair's on fire."

"Not really. Just a little smoldering."

"It's still smoldering _on your head._ "

"I wish I could say I haven't seen worse, but I'd be lying." Rill deadpanned. "Usually when Szordree's hair ends up on fire, it's his own damn fault."

"Well, _technically_ they started it..."

" _Priorities!"_ Dione barked, shooting an arrow at Szordree's feet. The drow yelped and danced away, as the Dunmer strode over and retrieved it. "So if you three are done gossiping, the rest of us have a nutcase to knock down a few pegs." She returned the arrow to her quiver.

Szordree looked to where they were fighting. Maera was still parrying Drasus's attacks, but they looked to be getting wilder by the second. "Seems like she's got it handled."

"Not for long." Everyone turned to Rill. He nodded to the crazed man, who was using as much magic as blade. "Drasus was matching skill earlier, but now he's gone into a rage. He's probably not going to keep holding back for much longer, not until his blows start landing on flesh instead of mithril."

Zachar unclipped his dagger hilts from his belt and passed his thumbs over the runes. The blades sprang to life, the blue light casting shadows in the dim lighting. "So, you're saying we're going to have to jump in."

"In a word, yes." Rill replied.

Zachar set his mouth. "That's all I needed to know." He said, before flashing into action.

 **-XXX-**

 **M** aera's arms ached from repelling blow after blow, and it felt like each one was coming down with more force than the last. Whether that was true or just an artifact of her sore muscles she wasn't sure, but Drasus certainly seemed to be getting angrier the longer she went with her head still attached.

Apparently, if his little gadget couldn't be used to tear Etrides a new asshole, his backup plan was to go postal and cut her in half. Maera wasn't sure what that had to do with getting his Spark re-ignited, but she figured he'd lost sight of his goal about the same time his artifact blew to pieces and scattered bits all over the floor.

Speaking of bits of artifact, her heel slipped on one as she was backing away from one of his attacks...and she nearly ended up flat on her back. She stumbled back, throwing her arms out wide to keep her balance.

And made her wide open for attack.

 _Ah, shit._

Drasus sneered and came down with his sword, dark energy from what felt—and _smelled—_ like a necromantic spell swirling around it and his entire sword arm. By instinct she moved Icefire to block, but she knew that it wouldn't' intercept in time.

It hadn't had to. The sword bounced off a shield that shattered and sparkled away into spent aether on impact. It was enough to make Drasus hesitated and snarl, burning yellow eyes narrowing.

And then widening again in surprise as a leg flickered into vision, followed by the body attached to it, as it smashed into the side of his head. Human and vedalken went tumbling, Zachar recovering far faster than Drasus.

The mad oracle in question opened his mouth in the beginnings of a casting, one that Maera cut off with a spell of silence. His mouth opened and closed uselessly, spell silenced.

Knowing that it wouldn't last long, she cast another fireball spell—this time fueling it with blue mana instead of red. A gout of liquid, boiling flame shot towards Drasus.

The mage raised his arm in an attempt to block the flames. Whatever spell he was hoping to cast didn't set off in time, and Maera could hear the scream and smell the burning flesh and hair when the sticky flames hit. She put a hand over her mouth and looked away, willing herself not to vomit. _Don't puke. Don't puke. He's been trying to kill you, too._

Zachar, to his credit, also looked a little green. "Overkill much?"

Maera grunted, still keeping her mouth clamped securely shut. She didn't trust herself not to vomit if she spoke. One would think that after almost ten years of being a battlemage she'd be used to the stink of flaming flesh, but apparently this was not the case.

She'd been _told_ that was a good thing, but sometimes she wasn't sure.

"If you're going to throw up, at least wait till we're back to the ship. At least then nobody'll have to clean it up." That was Rill, in his default cranky-old-man voice. Maera snorted a laugh, but still didn't reply.

The flames died down, the smell of burnt metal replacing that of burnt flesh. When they were gone, they revealed part of what was once a charred robe...at least, the bits that hadn't been burned to ash. Maera frowned. _There's no body. Even if that fireball was hot enough to completely cremate him, there'd be more ash than that. So what..._

A scream went up behind her. She whirled, and saw Szordree with Drasus's sword in his shoulder. Maera's eyes widened; he must've thrown it as she was casting the spell, either aiming for her or at _someone_.

"Damn...was hoping that would hit its mark...at least I hit _something._ " Maera turned back, and somehow Drasus must've managed to avoid the bubbling fireball. Or at least the worst of it; he was still badly burned, and part of his tunic had burned away. Along with most of his hair, and the skin of his remaining hand.

Again, Maera felt her gorge rise. She couldn't smell the burned flesh anymore, not with the scorched-metal stink in her nose, but seeing the _result_ of her fire was another level of disturbing.

At least _now_ he was breathing hard; avoiding a direct hit had at least forced considerable effort on his part. He was leaning against the wall, putting most of his weight on one leg. And he was holding a small, palm-sized device in his charred and blistered hand. He held it up.

" _Drop it!"_ In a moment, Maera had her sword sheathed and blaster barrel aimed at Drasus's head. She heard the creak of Dione's bow and the _whirrrr-beep_ of Zachar's pistol, as they both took aim at the man's head as well. "I will blow your brains all over the wall if you try anything."

Drasus merely smiled. "No, you won't." He hit the button on the device, and Maera felt the hairs on her arms stand up. The small magitech device was a remote for...something.

"Oh no you don't!" She launched forward, slamming into Drasus and sending the device flying. His smile widened. She felt the crackle of magic before their surroundings changed dramatically.

There were no longer in the high-ceilinged, spacious, softly lit cathedral. Now they were in a dark, dimly-lit, dungeon-like chamber. One that looked like it was dug into the asteroid itself, rather than part of the complex above. She berated herself; when she'd launched herself at Drasus she'd dropped her pistol. Somehow she'd had the presence of mind to keep hold of her staff, however.

Either that or her body had just gone on autopilot. She set the staff against the strap that crossed her back, and the holster she'd crafted for it clamped tightly around the ironwood shaft. She drew Icefire and Black Ice, the runes on the katana lighting up as she pumped mana through it. Cold, icy-blue flames sheathed the blade. "Where are we?"

Drasus didn't appear to register the question. He pulled himself up with the help of the wall, and keyed in a code. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to do this."

Maera's eyes narrowed. "Do what?" She didn't like the way he was talking. Or moving. Her grip tightened on both swords as she moved to a ready stance.

Again, Drasus wasn't listening. She suspected that he hadn't even realized she as still there...or that anyone had come with him through the teleport. He certainly wasn't acting like he had.

A cabinet opened up in the wall, next to the keypad. Drasus pulled something out, and finally turned in Maera's directly. He smiled brokenly. "Ah. You got caught in the teleport." He held up the object in his hand; it looked like a runed hexahedron. It took her a moment to realize hat he was holding a type of spellbomb. "Fitting. Though I was hoping this would remain last-ditch..."

The runes on the bomb glowed, and cracks spread over its surface. _Oh gods. He's going to detonate it._ Maera's eyes widened as she started forward, a binding spell coming to her lips. Alarm bells were screaming in her mind as Drasus overloaded the spellbomb.

Before it exploded, blinding Maera and taking Drasus with it.

* * *

 **The final battle will come in a few days. Try to hold out until then, readers.**

 **~Hikari Hellspawn**


	23. Die Ende

**And so, we have come to the final battle. Thank you all for reading, reviewing, and subscribing up to this point. This is a labor of love, and knowing that there's been people out there enjoying this crazy adventure as much as I am have made it all worth it. And once again, special thank-you to GamerDragon13 for letting me borrow Dione for a while.**

 **Without further ado...**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Magic: the Gathering or anything related to it. MtG is the property of Wizards of the coast, whom I am not affiliated with in the slightest.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Three**

 **Die Ende**

" _ **Maera!"**_ Zachar screamed as the teleporter activated. He ran towards the duo, only to pass right through where they'd been a moment before. He swore under his breath.

"Tell me you know how to trace that." Dione said.

Zachar was running a hand through his hair. He nodded, taking several deep breaths. His mind was racing, and that was not going to help right now. "Yes and no. it'll be harder without the remote, but it'll take a bit of time to—"

He was cut off as X'vir entered the room. "Problem." He said, tossing Zachar a data slate. He caught it. "Apparently that transporter Drasus used also set off an alarm—one _isolated_ from the main system. The whole cult's on their way here, and now they know _exactly_ where we are."

"What are they going to do? Send reinforcements?" Rill asked.

X'vir made an affirmative noise. "And according to the intercom chatter out there, they're going to blow this whole place. Apparently if they can't get their way by blowing a hole in the plane, they're going to get into their 'Eternity' by blowing themselves to kingdom come."

"And us along with them." Dione murmured beside Zachar. "We need to get out of here."

The vedalken nodded numbly. "Right. Um..."

"If you're going after Maera, do it now." Rill grumped. "The rest of us will get back to the ship with X'vir."

Zachar was about to reply when an explosion boomed beneath their feet, the muffled sound of it indicating that it had gone off several levels below them. "The hells was that?!" Szordree snapped, a hand to the bleeding wound in his shoulder.

"Probably the first in a series of explosions to destroy this place." Zachar replied. "All right...you guys, get back to _Sleipnir_. I'll track down Maera."

 _Hopefully that wasn't a hole being blown out where she was._

 **-XXX-**

 **M** aera felt the result of the arcane explosion before her sight recovered.

There was a very clear, very easy to track aether trail where Drasus used to be. The madman had succeeded; he'd re-ignited his Spark.

And now he was loose in the Multiverse.

" _Scheiẞ,"_ She swore, before launching into the Blind Eternities after him.

After an eternity and an instant, she managed to grab hold of him and yank him back to Etrides. They crashed to the floor for a second time, and Maera rolled to her feet, drawing her katana again.

Drasus snarled and let a wave of fire loose towards Maera. She met it with Icefire, the runes along the katana's blade flaring to life as it froze the flames on contact. Casting an illusion, she again made herself invisible and stepped back, leaving the illusion in her place. Quietly as possible, she drew Black Ice in her off-hand, and snuck around to get behind Drasus.

"I know what you're trying this time, Messiah." Drasus said, and this time the bolt of lightning he shot was aimed at _her_ , not the illusion. Cursing again under her breath, she dropped both spells and abandoned any guise of stealth. He smirked when he saw her. "Stealth won't help you. Neither will fireballs, guns...all will fail in the face of a _god._ "

Maera rolled her eyes. "While I know you're not going to listen anyway, I really hate to disappoint you; _Planeswalkers aren't gods._ " She replied, still circling around him. Drasus followed her movements. "We breathe, we eat, we shit, we bleed, we lick metal poles in the winter and freeze our tongues to them...we die. We're mortal. Things like bullets to the head are kinda fatal. Been that way since the Mending. You ain't a god, and neither am I, and anything short of undoing the Mending—which, by the way is a _bad fucking idea_ and I'm not even sure if it's _possible—_ is going to change that." _And unlike you, I don't want to change it._

Drasus's face darkened with ever words she spoke. "You lie. Only those who've ascended to godhood can walk the planes as you or I." He said quietly. His eyes shined with the light of a spell. "It's sad that you seem so determined not to see that."

The gem on the staff slung across her back pulsed whitish-green-blue, and Icefire lit up with cold flames. The runes along Black Ice smoldered too, though less brilliantly than Icefire—unsurprising, given its nature. _I don't know why I'm still trying to reason with this guy; he's determined not to see sense. And Rill did kinda mention that he's not playing with a full deck._ She set her jaw. _Ah, optimism. I wish you were right more often._

She didn't reply to Drasus with words. Instead, she launched into an attack, both swords coming down in an overhead assault.

A spell slipped out of his lips, and a handaxe appeared in his hand. He blocked Maera's strike, throwing the swords wide, and came in with it to her midsection.

It hit, the blade stopped from slicing into her flesh by the magitech armor suit she was wearing underneath her clothes. The blows still stung and she still twisted out of the way. As she did, she swung out wide with Icefire.

He blocked the longer blade with his summoned ax, but she came in with Black Ice under his guard. She felt the blade cut into flesh and he hissed, before twisting away himself. The runes along the wakizashi glowed brighter.

Drasus threw his ax, and Maera knocked it away with Black Ice. He was coming in right behind it, getting into her guard and too close for the range of her swords. Cursing, she dropped Icefire and mashed her elbow into his face, feeling and hearing his nose and cheekbone break. She used the moment of Drasus's disorientation to step back and block a wild swing of another summoned ax with her shorter sword.

She snapped a finger, and the katana reappeared in her hand. She brought it around in time to block another attack. Drasus blocked her wakizashi with a ward, and Maera disengaged before Drasus could mount a counterattack. He cursed and switched to another spell, which she dispersed with a ward of her own. "Having trouble regrowing that arm of yours?"

Drasus snapped something in Cyrodiilic—likely unfit for civilized conversation—and threw another bolt of lightning.

Maera caught it in a spell of her own, and sent it back at Drasus. It hit him full in the chest and sent him sprawling. "Lemme spell it out for you; _it ain't coming back._ Unless you're a master of on-the-spot fleshknitting, that arm is gone for good. Or until you get it reattached or replaced with an artificial one. Neither of which are going to happen without a trip to the hospital."

Drasus grunted as he pulled himself up. "Allandir was a fan of speeches as well." He growled. "Some things run in families." He let the summoned ax dispel as a sickly, red-black light started forming in his remaining, ruined hand. "But if you think I intend on letting my Spark be sealed _again_ , you are sorely mistak—"

Maera didn't bother waiting for him to finish. Jaw set, she covered the distance between her and the mad oracle in a few loping steps. Paired blades sank into his flesh, and blood dribbled down Drasus's chin. "What did..."

She swallowed her bile. "Let me point out the obvious." She said, not breaking eye contact, even as her blades were buried in his chest. "I. Am. Not. Allandir. That means there's one big difference."

Drasus sneered, showing bloody teeth. "And what is that?"

Maera's grip tightened on her swords. "This." Shifting grip, she yanked both weapons out to the sides, cutting through muscle, sinew, and internal organs. Drasus stood there with a dumbstruck look on his face for a moment...before dropping like a sack of potatoes.

His mouth worked for a moment, the only sound coming from it a wet gurgle. Then it stopped, followed by his breathing.

Drasus Catius was dead.

Maera's hands trembled, and she felt as though she was about to empty the contents of her stomach onto the floor. _He's dead. He can't re-ignite a damn thing. He's dead._

 _And I'm the one who did it._

Twin clangs echoed on the floor as her swords fell to the ground. She put a hand do her mouth and backed up till she got to a wall. Nausea wasn't new to her—feeling sick and throwing up after a battle was something she was more than a little familiar with. But in those cases, while she'd maimed—often very seriously—her opponents, she hadn't killed. She'd actively tried _not_ to kill.

This was the first time she'd thrown that limitation out the window. It was either take down Drasus, by any means necessary, or let a plane—with people she'd come to _care about on it—_ be destroyed. And then have a madman with delusions of godhood loose in the Multiverse. As if one wasn't already bad enough...

 _This._ This was a _whole_ new brand of after-fight illness. _If this is what I'm supposed to feel like after killing someone, I don't like it. Don't want to do it ever again._

But if she was going to track down the rest of the Gatewatch for a second crack at Bolas, she was going to have to be prepared for it.

It wasn't something she was looking forward to.

 _Baby steps. First, find an exit and get off this rock. Or find one of the others. Then spend the next hour or so puking into Sleipnir's toilet._

The pneumatic hiss of a door opening startled her. Her hand went to her katana...only to find that it and Black Ice weren't in their scabbards. They were still lying on the ground where they'd fallen. Maera swore under her breath ad laid a hand on the staff slung over her shoulder. She retreated farther into the shadows, gathering mana for either a spell or a Planeswalk.

The figure that entered was holding up a lightstone, bathing the room with a dim light. Maera bit her lip and took small, shallow breaths so the newcomer wouldn't hear. She forced herself to stay completely still, her heartbeat deafening in her own ears.

The figure turned, and Maera saw the face of none other than Captain Fashionably Challenged. He had one hand on his blaster pistol and one holding the stone, scanning the room...presumably looking for one half-faerie who was currently trying to become one with the wall.

" _Progenitor!"_ Captain Fashionably Challenged ran to the corpse, dropping the stone as he knelt next to his former master. Maera craned her neck to see better, trying (and hoping) to stay hidden.

It didn't look like she had to try at all; the flamboyant space-pirate-slash-zealot was too distracted by his 'god' lying dead in a pool of his own cooling blood. He was sobbing, screaming about how whoever did this was going to feel his wrath...or something.

Maera resisted the urge to roll her eyes and eyed her swords. She doubted he'd notice Icefire disappearing, but that still left the retrieval of Black Ice a bit...problematic. She could always cast an invisibility spell over herself, creep over, and then extend it to the weapon when she got close enough...

The container she was leaning against shifted, and Indril—she'd caught the name whenever Drasus was getting _particularly_ annoyed by his favorite idiot—went silent. Then rose. " _You're_ still here." He snarled. "Tell me, _Messiah_ , how does it _feel_ to doom a whole world?"

 _Welp. So much for stealth._ She stepped out of her hiding place, hoping she _looked_ a lot more steady than she felt. "Uhm, last time I checked, you'd have _died_ when he tore a hole in reality. Along with the _rest_ of your club, followed by the rest of Etrides. Sounds to me like _that_ would've been dooming the universe."

Indril shook his head. "You have no idea. You could not _comprehend—_ he was a _god! You killed a god"_ Alarm bells started ringing in Maera's head at the man's crazy eyes, and she calculated how quickly she could freeze him into a popsicle before he drew his blaster. The odds weren't looking great.

But rather than going for his sidearm, his eyes went to the blue-bladed katana on the ground—Drasus's blood still on the blade. Indril smiled, the broken expression looking creepily like the one Drasus had before he'd detonated the spellbomb that had re-ignited his Spark. He picked up the blade, and set that freakish smile on his face on her. "Fitting. Oh, so poetically _fitting_." He started towards her, blade pointed at her. Maera stepped back out of reflex. "I'll kill you with your own blade. The same one you used to murder a _god_."

Maera started the incantation of a spell, even as Indril raised the sword with a yell on his lips. Then a dagger blade appeared in the middle of his forehead like a bloody horn, and he froze. The katana fell from his grip to clatter on the floor again, before the crazy pirate keeled over, hitting the deck face-first with a dull _thud._

Maera blinked a couple times, then looked to the doorway. Zachar was standing there, breathing hard. And looking more than a little bit relieved. "Um. Thanks."

"Don't mention it." He strode over and ran his thumb over the rune on the dagger's hilt. The blade vanished, and he wiped the gore from the hilt before returning it to his belt by its mate. "So. He's dead."

Maera didn't ask which one he was talking about; she was still processing it. Would be for a while, she figured. She nodded, collecting her swords—being very careful _not_ to look at the corpses on the ground. She wiped each blade carefully before sliding them back into their scabbards, pretending that the trembling of her hands was her imagination. It wasn't working. "Yeah. He is. unless he's a lich, he's not coming back."

Zachar grimaced. "Don't jinx it."

Maera barked out a mirthless and entirely inappropriate—and a little hysterical-sounding—laugh. "Lets just get the fuck out of here. With the others."

"They're already on _Sleipnir_. I heard X'vir swearing over the commlink about his tail being on fire. And _Sleipnir_ threatening to synthesize hair dye to add to his shower the next time he takes one if he wouldn't shut up."

Maera nodded. A loud echoing _boom_ rocked through the complex above them, and the room shuddered. "What the fu—"

"Drasus's teleportation sent out an automatic alert to start blowing the place. Apparently he's got devout enough followers who're perfectly willing to kill themselves if Plan A doesn't pan out." He shrugged. "Still saw a lot of others running for escape pods, though. I'm going to assume that _they_ were the more sane ones." Maera frowned at him, and he held up the arm with his tech-gauntlet. "They've got time, don't worry; I ran a little _interference_ to stack the odds."

Another boom went off. "We're still gonna need a shortcut."

Zachar raised an eyebrow at her. "No, really."

Maera blew him a raspberry. "Meet you back at Saiyani?"

The vedalken nodded. "Makes sense. We both know the place." He was already tapping something on a holographic screen being projected by his gauntlet. "Be right behind you. I'll let the others knew where to meet back up."

Maera nodded and gathered the mana to Planeswalk. She felt Etrides grow farther and farther away, as the silent roar of the Blind Eternities filled her ears.

 **-XXX-**

 **E** vran held his sleeve to his nose, not even trying to hide his disgust at the smell. The stink of sweat, piss, and excrement mixed with the sickly-sweet of death, bathing the chamber in a soup of reek.

Of all the bad smells he'd been subjected to over his years in the Inquisitorium, it was in the top three.

"I guess this confirms it, then." The woman next to him said. "The Hive's been...neutralized."

Evran grunted. "Killed, more accurately." He replied, taking shallow breaths. Just because he was familiar with bad smells didn't mean the he _liked_ them. "We're just lucky that the damage hasn't had time to spread."

And indeed they were. Most of the people in this room, a good sixty or more, were corpses in various states of decay. The few who weren't were nearly there, reduced to drooling vegetables. Regardless, the implants linking them together were fried, along with their brains. The collective consciousness of the Hive was well and truly dead, regardless of the state of its former hosts.

All thanks to one faerie who could walk worlds.

 _This is the damage Planeswalkers are capable of. It's too dangerous to let them run loose._

Sonna sighed. "Do you want to alert Command? It looks like they haven't gotten word yet."

"No." Evran went to an open seat and brought up the computer. With a few quick taps, he had hacked into the Hive's mainframe—thankfully, _it_ hadn't been connected to the now fried implants. Zachar Urin wasn't the only technomage in the Inquisitorium.

He forced the smile threatening to creep across his face into submission. Now that he had access and control of the Hive's central computer system, he had effectively full control of the entire Inquisitorium.

"We have some damage control to do."

* * *

 **A few notes; the title of this chapter is in German, literally "The End". It's on the corny side, I know, but I figured it'd be a neat little touch considering Maera's (and my own) affinity for the German language.**

 **Epilogue is coming tomorrow, so this time there isn't going to be that long of a wait.**


	24. Epilogue

**Once again, I have to thank all of you for reading this story. Originally, I was going to wait until I had at least one other fic completed before even _starting_ on writing _Birthright_ , but my brain wouldn't shut up until I did something. This whole story was literally supposed to be Maera figuring out who the hell she was after nearly dying on Amonkhet, and it spiralled into...this.**

 **As for timeline things, a week or two after this epilogue is when Maera and Zachar meet up with Rill again, before heading off to Ixalan to track down Jace Chronic-Amnesiac Beleren. By now, over a month after crash-landing on Etrides, they'll be arriving roughly halfway through the Ixalan story arc.**

 **I still don't own Mt:G.**

* * *

 **Epilogue**

" **How's** the arm feel?"

Maera moved the appendage, testing the flexibility of the joints. The movements felt natural, and if it weren't for the iridescent, blue-black metal she wouldn't have noticed it wasn't her natural arm. She turned the hand palm-up and flexed the fingers, nodding in approval. "Doesn't feel too stiff or loose at all. Good dexterity...and are those _nails_?"

"Mm-hm." Zachar nodded. "I thought it'd be a nice touch. Especially for someone who has her _other_ hand painted in a rainbow..."

Maera stuck her tongue out at him, even though she had indeed striped the nails on her left hand in every color she could find. "Looks like I'm going to have to break out the nail polish again."

Zachar's eye twitched, face deadpan. "...Why?"

Maera held up her hands, backs facing the vedalken. She wiggled her fingers. "It'll look weird if only one hand's painted, won't it?"

Zachar sighed noisily and rolled his eyes. "In any case, that arm should have a full range of motion and full tactile sense. The implants in your shoulder are what act as the links between your nervous system and its artificial version. As for physical specs, it's an alloy of titanium, mithril, and carbon fiber. In short, it's lighter than your average cybernetic limb, specialized for spellcasting and can take a _hell_ of a beating. Considering how this is _you_ we're talking about, I decided it would be better safe than sorry."

Maera gave him a Look. "I'm not _that_ bad."

He rolled his eyes again. "Riiiight. I'll believe that about when you start wearing princes dresses."

Maera made a sound reminiscent of a cat hacking up hairball. Zachar laughed. She flipped him off and took a closer look at the metal of the arm. "What're these etchings?"

"Runes. Inlaid with electrum." Zachar replied. "I took the liberty to work some extra enchantments into the mechanisms for added durability, in case you're stuck on a plane where artificial arm parts aren't exactly easy to come by. As well as keep it from seizing up when it gets cold as hell, or hot enough to cook eggs on a sidewalk."

Maera eyed the vedalken. "You're _sure_ you've never been to the Midwest?"

"Positive." Zachar deadpanned. "So, where to now?"

Maera stood and pulled her long coat back on. "First, Ravnica. See if anyone ended up there, and even if they didn't I've still got friends there who could help with leads. From there, the plan is returning to Amonkhet and seeing if there's any aether trails I can follow."

Zachar's mouth went into a thin line. "That seems unlikely. As well as a _supremely_ bad idea."

Maera shrugged. "I know. But it's the best lead I can think of so far."

"Mnh." Zachar bit his thumbnail, before turning back to his computer. He spoke as he typed. "I'll make arrangements with Nasala and her cousin to keep an eye on _Sleipnir._ Well, the ship." He sideyed her. "You said you were heading to Ravnica first?"

Maera stopped in the middle of lacing her boots and stared at him. "You're coming with?"

Zachar grunted and shrugged, checking his gauntlet as he typed. "Yeah. You've got my frequency programmed into that antique of yours, right?"

"It's my _phone_ , and yes." Maera replied, boot laces in her hands-oh, it felt _good_ to have two _real_ hands again-still forgotten. "Why?"

Zachar paused and turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "You _really_ need an answer?" He asked sardonically. "Same reason you broke down the Inquisitorium's front door and fried the Hive, and the same reason _I_ went in and saved your ass in Drasus's asteroid field. Friends do dumb shit for each other."

Maera snorted and finished lacing her boots. "Fair enough. And I didn't need _saving._ "

"Right. You had the fashion-challenged maniac about to behead you with your own sword _completely_ under control."

Maera flipped him off again. "Har-dee-har. And admit it; the _real_ reason you're tagging along to Ravnica is to meet the rest of the insane asylum that I'm friends with."

Zachar grunted. "I admit, it'd be fascinating to see if they're all _really_ as broken as you are. I still don't believe it's possible."

Maera laughed, and Zach gave her his I'm-not-sure-you've-got-all-your-screws look. "Oh, I'm not _nearly_ the most broken of us all. I'm pretty sure _that_ award goes to one Ral Zarek, the man who's gotten himself electrocuted so often his hair's turning gray. He's literally a human lightning rod...with an ego the size of Nivix."

The vedalken rolled his eyes. "Right..."

" _Just admit it. You want to see the starship crash in action._ "

"You're just saying that because it's something _you_ want to see, asshole." Zachar grumbled at the ship. "Starting main system download...so, if you _do manage_ to track down everyone else, what then?"

"What d'you think?" Maera leaned against the bulkhead and crossed her arms. "I'm gonna go to whatever planes they landed on, track them down, and drag them back to Ravnica or Terrestiel or Nirn, someplace we know so we can debrief, decompress, and regroup for...whatever happens next."

"Which is...?"

Maera let out a sigh. "I have no idea." She said. "All I know is what Bolas wanted from Amonkhet, he got. And we still don't know any more about his endgame other than his pre-Mending power back. Or at least, I don't; one of the others might've picked up more than I did."

"And hopefully without getting in as much trouble as you've manged."

"Oh shut up."

Zachar deftly flipped her off as he continued working on the download. "Did the others tell you anything more about their plans now that the whole Drasus thing is...over?"

Maera cracked her shoulders and neck. "Rill said he was going to head back to Zendikar to see if Ugin's still there. And if he can get that dragon to get off his scaly old ass and actually _do something_ about Bolas if he is." She replied. "Szordree's got some allies in Fâerun he's gonna see if he can rouse, too. And Dione's got some mutual friends of hers and Bels, whom she's getting appraised of the current situation. Or at least, where we're concerned, anyway."

Zachar nodded slowly, then disconnected the cable linking his gauntlet to the computer console. "Best get going, then." He said, holding up his gauntlet. " _Sleipnir_ 's ready to go."

" _You mean ready to make sure you two idiots don't get yourselves killed."_

"Shut it." Maera flexed the fingers of her new right hand, and blue sparks flicked between them. _Mana lines are good. Far as my magic's concerned, this arm is exactly the same as the one it replaced._

 _'Normally it takes mana lines longer to reform after having a limb replaced.'_ Taibhse added. _'Using that magical construct in place of an arm kept them from atrophying.'_

 _And kept me literate._ "Anyway...make whatever arrangements you need to, and I'll get my stuff packed up. Then we can head to Ravnica and see what we can find."

"Right." Zachar glanced to her. "You think six hours should be enough?"

"Plenty." Maera started back to her room. "I'll call Bels and tell her to get the gang together on Ravnica. Then, we go Planeswalker-finding."

Zachar's reply was an affirmative grunt. Maera left the galley so he could get a start on the arrangements for his ship. And she had to get the rest of her things together.

 _Once more into the breach._

* * *

 **And now, for the massive list of thanks:**

 **To GamerDragon13 for letting me borrow Dione Desidenius. I hope I did her justice.**

 **To Abraxas Gadolinium MacGuile, Akham Wyntier, FluffySheepLion, Helixical, Lyran, fixerbacta, gmodder7, and shotgunRunner for adding this story to their favorites.**

 **To AGM, Arkham Wyntier, FluffySheepLion, Helixical, Lyran, Shadow48, ZadArchie, gmodder7, and shotgunRunner for following this story.**

 **And thanks to Arham Wyntier, Abraxas Gadolinium MacGuile, and shotgunRunner for all of their reviews. I'm glad for any feedback I get in my writings on this site, no matter how small. All three of you guys have gone above and beyond in that department.**

 **I can guarantee that this isn't going to be the _last_ time I write about my fanwalkers. I've even got another fic in the works, although it isn't going to be a continuous story like this one was; it's more of an anthology. It'll be a collection of origin stories, telling how each one of my fanwalkers-starting with Allandir and ending with Maera-had their Sparks ignite. A few of which we've already seen here, but most of them will be new to FFNet. **

**Until then, I'm going to go back to updating Remembrance and Through Another's Eyes, both of which are fanfics in the Yu-Gi-Oh universe (and _completely unconnected to this fic and planeswalkers in general_ , because I know that someone's gonna ask). If you want to go take a look over on those, I'm certainly not gonna stop you. And if you want to know exactly when I end up posting the origins anthology, your best bet is to hit the author-subscribe button. **

**Until I see you all again, either in this fandom or another one I'm setting aflame, it's been a ride. Hope to see you on the next one.**

 **~Hikari Hellspawn**


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